


TRAITOR

by Schattenriss



Series: The Contours of Shadows [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A Charming Psychopath, A Very Clever Nug, Alcohol/Alcohol Abuse, Angst and trauma, Bees, Explicit Language, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Monsters, Moral Dilemmas, Murder Mystery, Politics, Post-Trespasser, Pranks, Qunari, Rescue, Road Trips, Stalking, Tevinter Imperium, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 71
Words: 177,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/pseuds/Schattenriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An atrocity has been committed in the Grand Cathedral of the Chantry, and the repercussions could be disastrous… </p><p>Former Inquisitor Kai Trevelyan never intended to have a complicated life, but fate apparently had other ideas.  Carrying on a long-distance relationship with a Tevinter magister is tricky enough. Now an old friend is asking him to hunt down a cold-blooded murderer, and if that wasn't enough, someone in his own city seems to want him dead… or worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

[](https://i.imgur.com/S8OHXci.png)

_ Prologue _

At this time of night the darkness and silence in the Chantry archives was almost complete. Confident he was alone, he finally cracked the seal on the small globe he'd removed from his pocket and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the beam of bluish light emitting from it. A key unlocked the storeroom door and in moments he was packing the items he'd been instructed to liberate into soft leather satchels. This was the third and final location; the first had been another storeroom, the second a cluttered and seldom-visited archive that appeared to be dedicated to real estate transactions. Fortunately, his client had not only specified what they wanted, but precisely where to find it. After tonight he was ready to believe the tales of people descending into the archives never to appear again; the place had become a labyrinth over the years and even his familiarity with it hadn't been proof against the need to consult his map on at least two occasions.

He secured the satchels and traced his tracks back to the doorway. There was no way to mask the fact that someone had been in the room, but he took a moment to swipe at the dust as he retreated so his footprints were smeary and indistinct. He shut the door and re-locked it, then wove his way back to the little-remembered side door he'd used to enter the archives. The easy part of his night was done. 

The boy — to be honest, they were nearly of an age, but he couldn't help but think of the fool as a boy — was waiting as instructed at the foot of Maferath's statue in the main vestibule of the archives. Despite repeated admonishments to be silent, he was humming a tune to himself and pulling at the ridiculous tuft of facial hair he'd presumably grown to cover up the weakness of his chin. A cuff to the back of his head got the idiot's attention.

"Stop that bloody humming."

"Wha- oh! Wolf! I didn't hear you." The boy gave him a watery smile.

"You weren't supposed to," he growled. Wolf, indeed. Witless name, but exactly the sort of thing that appealed to the idiot, so for a time Wolf he was.

"Did you get everything?" the boy asked eagerly.

"Of course." He dug into one of his many pockets, feigning absentmindedness as he retrieved the package. "Hold this for me a moment, would you? I seem to have misplaced one of the items."

The boy took the package, blinking in surprise. "You misplaced something? I didn't think that was possible." He laughed a quiet version of his usual shrill giggle.

Wolf laughed along with him. "You know what? You're right. It isn't." With practiced speed he slashed the knife hard across the boy's throat, stepped back to avoid the gout of blood. He rather enjoyed the look on the idiot's face as he realized he was dead. 

He melted back into the shadows behind the statue to fish the finishing touches out of his belt pouch, was nearly done when he heard a small gasp. He sidled far enough over to see the source. _Of all the cursed luck. What's a sister doing down in the bloody archives at this time of night?_ Well, part of the reason he was paid so handsomely was his ability to improvise; time to turn this setback into a positive. As the sister hurried over to the body he set the satchels and his more obvious gear further out of sight and quietly positioned himself so it would appear he was simply walking past as she had been before speaking.

"Is something wrong, sister?"

She started at his words and stood up quickly, shock and momentary fear making her eyes wide. The fear left when she saw him, but the shock remained. "This man's bleeding to death!"

"Oh dear," he looked down at the idiot with just the right amount of concern and vague distaste, "that is quite a lot of blood."

"Who could have done this? Why?" she shook her head, calming further now that she had someone to share her shock with. "We'd better get someone down here."

He moved next to her, smiling a reassuring smile. "Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, sister."

She frowned up at him. "It most certainly will. We don't-"

She made a surprised noise as the knife flashed again, even briefly attempted to fight before she realized she, too, was already dead. He sighed; now he was going to have to wash blood out of his clothes. _Let's at least make this worth the extra effort._ He constructed a new, expanded tableau, incorporating the items from the belt pouch almost as an afterthought. Even though it was cobbled together with more haste than he would have liked, he was pleased with the result. It would certainly add to the impact his client desired. Finally he spent a few extra moments ensuring no blood remained on the soles of his shoes, retrieved the satchels, pulled on a finely tailored travelling cloak and exited through another side door that led to more populated areas of the Grand Cathedral. From there he was finally free to leave.

  _Farewell Orlais, you old whore. I hope you appreciate the gifts I left you._


	2. Hasmal

_ Part One: Hasmal _

Three in the morning is a lousy time for a homecoming. Not that I expect a brass band and feast, but whoever coined the phrase "the dead of night" probably came up with it at three in the morning. I left my horse at the stables and walked home through streets that were dark and almost eerily empty; by that time of night even the most enterprising criminals were otherwise occupied.

Casting just enough light to see directly in front of me, I dismissed the wards on my front door as I unlocked it. The house smelled stale and unused. I lit a couple of wall sconces with a thought as I pulled off my coat and checked the table by the entryway. There was a small stack of letters and a shoe that had a very chewed look to it. On the shoe was a note reading _Swivet is not happy with you._ "Not" had been underlined three times. Everything else looked just as I had left it. I sat down long enough to pull off my boots then, lacking anything better to do, headed upstairs to bed.

I was awakened far too early by a beam of light stabbing directly into my eyes — I had forgotten to close my curtains. I considered doing that and going back to sleep, but I'd been gone over a month this time and there were things I needed to do.

There was nothing remotely edible in the house, but my supply of Antivan coffee was still good so I made myself a few cups' worth to drink while I looked over the letters. It was only then that I remembered what I should have done when I’d gotten home: I went back out to my entryway where a bell was hanging above the table and cast a spell of my own devising on it. It rang and emitted a small flash of blue light to let me know it had registered. Across town another bell would do the same thing if someone was in the room with it, letting Sera and Dagna know I was back. That accomplished, I went back to my coffee and letters.

The first was from a local haberdasher who could at least be given credit for being enterprising. Sadly, I wasn't in the market for _Finest Hattes in Alle of Hasmal and Alle the Surrounding Areas Including Tantervale_ (apparently adding that extra 'e' makes all the difference in how fancy your hattes are), so into the garbage it went.

The second wasn't any better:  


_Dear Kai Lord Trevelyan or should I still say Inquistor ha ha,_

_I was remembering those days of the Inquisiton when everything was so mad and exiteing and of course thought of you and all the good we did back then. You probaby don’t remember but I was a part of the crazyness there at Skyhold and saw you all the time. We even talked on more then one occason. I always thought you were so inspiring._

_I am writting you now because I know you are a man of great discrimination and perspicacity. As such, I feel confident that you of all people will imediatley see the value of investing a small sum of only 500 (or more ha ha) gold in the SureFire venture I am proposing._  


There was more, but I stopped reading at that point and incinerated it.

The third was from my mother. Most of it was chatty news about people in Ostwick I barely remembered or never knew, but at least she was trying. I was willing to cut her some slack because she really didn't know _what_ to say to me; circumstances made it so I haven't been particularly close to my parents for many years and repairing that has been a slow process. She ended it with a carefully worded invitation that it would be nice to see me “if you aren’t too busy with your things.” She and my father don’t have the slightest idea what I do for a living and I think that bothers them. Problem is, they’re already bothered by the fact that I’m a mage; they’re bothered that my lover is a Tevinter magister; they're politely baffled when I tell them I count elves, dwarves and at least one Qunari among my best friends; if I tried to explain the things I do for a living, it would probably bother them even more. Better to just leave it at _it’s complicated_ and let them be slightly annoyed.

I put my mother's letter aside to answer later, finished my coffee and went out to spend an exciting morning doing errands. By afternoon my larder and supplies were restocked, my finances were in order and my laundry was being done; I felt I'd done a sterling job of being responsible and adult. It was also late enough that I wasn't likely to be annoying if I showed up at Sera and Dagna's, so I stuck a small bag I'd purchased earlier in my coat pocket and headed to their place.

Sera answered the door almost as soon as I knocked. "Here's you, then," she said with a grin. I gave her a hug hello and followed her inside. "Took you long enough."

"I stayed in Minrathous a little longer than usual," I sort-of explained as I pulled my coat off.

"Awfully long way to go just to get some," she smirked.

I shrugged. "It's worth it," then added in far more salacious tones, "So very, _very_ worth it." 

She laughed. "All that way, it bloody well better be."

I followed her into their kitchen, which was mostly taken up by a large worktable filled with items both magical and practical. One corner looked mostly devoted to fletching, the rest to whatever arcane business Dagna was currently involved with. "I knew you were coming so there's coffee," Sera announced.

"You are truly a wonderful friend and an elf of uncommon taste," I said. "Hey, Dagna."

The red-headed dwarf looked up from the worktable, said, "Welcome home!" and went straight back to what she was working on.

I looked around the cheerful clutter of their kitchen. "Where's Swivet?"

"Like the shoe said, he's not happy with you. And you owe me a shoe." Sera perched on a stool at the end of the worktable.

"I'll buy you as many shoes as you like. Thanks for taking care of him. Swivet!" I called.

"Oh, he's no bother. For a _pest_ ," Sera said pointedly to something behind and to the right of her stool. I heard an indignant squeak. "Well, stop being a tit and go see Kai." She waved her hand in my general direction. "Go on."

With a small clatter of claws, my nug came out from behind Sera's stool. He looked at me, ears twitching, made a noise suspiciously like "Hmph," and sat back down.

"I'm sorry," I told him, crouching down to get closer to his level. "I shouldn't have been gone so long. But you like Sera and Dagna."

He looked away and scratched himself.

"I brought cookies." I took one out of the bag I'd brought with me and held it out. "The kind you like with the nuts and raisins."

He came close enough to give the cookie a sniff.

"Go ahead," I coaxed him. "It's fresh."

He sat up on his hind legs and took the cookie with one handlike front paw, sniffed it again and finally ate it.

"Well, am I forgiven?"

He walked over to me and nuzzled my hand. I gave him a second cookie which he accepted with a squeak. As he went to work on it, I stood back up.

"He let you off easy," Sera said.

"They _are_ awfully good cookies," I pointed out as I helped myself to a cup of coffee. 

She wrinkled her nose. "If you like raisins, I suppose."

"Well, Swivet does. I wouldn't dream of buying you raisin cookies." I pulled up a stool to the big worktable. "So what's been going on the past - what? - six weeks? Anything?"

She frowned. "Bugger all, really. It's weird."

"You should be glad for the break," Dagna said, attention still firmly on her project.

"I don't trust it. It's when it gets all quiet that you just know everything's about to go tits up."

"Always," I agreed. "There's really been nothing? Not even a Jenny job?"

"Just bits. Couple of things in Tantervale, but they're such stuffy-arsed prats there's _always_ something there. Oh - and someone's been pranking people here in town and it's not me."

"Isn't that gimmick infringement?" I teased.

“Nah, if they understand pranks I’m all for it,” she said.

“What about-“ I was interrupted by an insistent pawing at my right leg. I looked down. Swivet looked up at me, stood on his hind legs and reached up with his front paws. “”Aren’t you getting too big for that?”

He squeaked, giving me his best _cute and abandoned_ look.

“Oh, all right then.” I turned and bent down enough that he could hang onto my left forearm while I lifted the rest of him onto my lap.

Dagna gave a small shudder. “That always looks like it should hurt when he digs his claws in like that.”

“Thanks to you and Ademar,” I smiled at her then flinched as Swivet made himself comfortable. “Hey, careful where you’re treading. How’d you like it if I stepped on you there?”

Sera snickered as Swivet made a contented trill. "Oh yes, very funny," I said with mock annoyance. "Now where were we?"

"Just someone who isn't me or a Jenny doing pranks," Sera shook her head. "It's deader than dead for _any_ thing. Which is creepy."

"Very creepy," I agreed. "Damn. Now I'm convinced something horrible is going to happen."

"Honestly, you two," Dagna looked up with amused impatience, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe there's just nothing really bad going on right now?"

"No," we both answered.

"Fine, then it's up to me to change the subject. How's Dorian?"

That had, of course, been the primary reason I'd been in Tevinter the last month. Dorian Pavus is a member of the ruling body of that country: a Magister (yes, the one my parents are bothered about). We've been in a relationship for years now, though the whole becoming-a-magister thing complicated it somewhat as he had to return to Minrathous for maker knows how long. All of us originally met while we were members of the Inquisition (which makes it sound somehow collegiate — believe me, it wasn't), so Sera and Dagna have known him as long as I have.

I told them a bit about my trip and Dorian and they got me caught up on the more mundane happenings around Hasmal during the time I'd been gone. At that point it was approaching dinner time, so we decided to go out, and after dinner staying to have a few drinks seemed like a fine idea. In what seemed like no time at all it was nearly midnight.

With promises to return the next day — Dagna had something she wanted to confer with me about — I said good night and set out for home. Swivet trotted next to me, looking around with interest. There were still people out and about, but not many; it was another quiet night.

It was dead silent when I got home. I pulled out my key and as I reached for the door I felt a surge of magical power. Years of combat experience took over and I immediately leapt away from it, shielding myself with my coat and casting a barrier spell. There was a crackling explosion as a fireball flashed past me and dissipated in the night air. Swivet, squeaking in alarm, ran and hid behind a shrubbery that wasn't much bigger than he was.

I waited tensely for the inevitable follow-up attack, but nothing happened. No one appeared to have noticed and the rest of the street stayed quiet. I cast a low-level light spell and waited another minute. Still nothing. Maybe it was Sera's mysterious prankster? Giving a mental shrug but not completely letting my guard down, I turned back to my door.

As I stared, Swivet sneezed. Burnt deep into the wood was a single word:  
**TRAITOR**

 

 


	3. Mysteries and Meringue

"Well, let's see it then."

We were standing at my front door; 'we' being myself, Sera and another Friend of Red Jenny named Matthias.* He was an elf with deep green eyes and hair as black as mine (well, if I ever allowed it to grow out) that he usually wore tied back in a loose pony tail. Probably Dalish at some point in his life, judging by the facial tattoos. I’d seen him a few times but hadn’t talked to him; he’d shown up in Hasmal shortly before I left for my latest trip north. He seemed a decent sort and he'd been at Sera's when I'd gone to tell her about the attack on my door.

* * *

***** The Friends of Red Jenny could be described as a... resistance movement of sorts. While the overarching philosophy is that we work to address abuses of the lower classes by nobility, the actual things we do are as varied as our members and the requests we get. It can be anything from simple pranks up to assassination, depending on the transgression of the target.  


* * *

I dismissed the illusion spell I'd thrown on the door. Matthias gave a low whistle.

"Well _some_ one's got a stonking mad on for you," Sera said.

"Why 'traitor'?" Matthias asked.

"It's got to be because of Dorian," I said. "What else could it be?"

"And Dorian is..?" Matthias prompted.

"His boyfriend. He's a magister," Sera said absently as she studied the door.

"A magister. As in evil-mage-rulers-of-Tevinter?" he sounded skeptical.

"Yes, that sort of magister," I confirmed, "but he's not evil. And I'm not just saying that because I'm biased."

He gave me a narrow-eyed look and shook his head. "Sera, you know the most interesting people…"

Sera grinned. "You don't know the half of it. But Kai, not everyone knows about Dorian," she said to me.

"Well, no. But I haven't exactly made a secret of it, and there're plenty of people who know what he is."

"But why pick now to get all pissy about it? That's stupid," she said.

"A lot of people _do_ know you go to Tevinter all the time," Matthias said. "You've become known as something of an expert on it for people heading that way."

"I have? Huh." Both as an excuse to go and for my own protection, I'd been hiring out as an outrider for groups heading into Tevinter for the last year. It had turned into a rather lucrative side occupation and I have to admit I enjoyed it. I hadn't realized I'd become well-known for it, though. I sighed, "Well that's just wonderful. So we've now added _anyone who doesn't like Tevinter_ to the list of possible perpetrators."

"That narrows it down to most everyone," Sera laughed.

"We should probably continue this conversation inside," I said, throwing the illusion spell back on the door. "Anyone know how much a door costs?"

"You can't just keep the spell on it?" Matthias asked.

I shrugged. "While I'm here, yes, I could keep refreshing it, but when I have to leave again… Besides, it's the principle of the thing."

As I closed the door Swivet came up to us with a hello trill and sniffed the new elf curiously. Matthias looked at Sera. "Is this the one you were nug-sitting?"

"Yeah, that's Swivet. He _hid_ every time you came over to our place," Sera said. "Swivet, that's Matze."

Swivet gave a low squeak as I said, "Matze?"

"That's what my friends call me. I don't think I've ever seen a brown nug."

“Leliana calls him a _chocolate_ nug,” I said.

“Hah! That’s because she can charge more for a _chocolate_ nug than a _brown_ one,” Sera chortled.

“True, but he was a gift. She also said he was the closest thing she could find to fit my fondness for the colour black."

“Are they rare?” Matze asked.

"There's loads of 'em in the Emerald Graves," Sera said dismissively as she took over the best chair in the living room. Swivet immediately dashed over to try and climb up next to her. "Stay down there, you. Kai's right — you're getting too big for that."

My nug made a disgusted noise that surprised a laugh out of me. "That sounded exactly like Cassandra. So what do you think? Should I be worried?"

"Dunno. Haven't heard anyone going off about Tevinter any more than the usual _blardy-blar manky-arsed Vints_ shite you always hear."

"Nothing about me in particular?" I pressed.

Sera shook her head. "Just 'where's your bald friend' sort of thing."

"Damn." I hated having no information.

Matze spun a wooden chair around and sat on it backwards, crossing his arms atop the chair back. "You're just going to have to wait. Either they're simply annoyed and content to write nasty things about you or it'll get worse."

"Wonderful. If I get killed we'll know they were more than just a trifle cross with me," I said. "But I can tell you right off, whoever it is, is a mage. Your average person isn't going to use fancy fireballs to burn words into someone's door."

"They could have paid a mage to do it," Matze said.

"Even if, that's a load of trouble to go to and he hadn't even been home a whole day," Sera said. "That says they're pretty frigging brassed off about something."

"Why would they wait until he got back to set it up? Couldn't they have just put their little surprise in place ahead of time?" Matze asked.

"I had wards up," I explained. "They couldn't do shite without triggering them. Something a mage would know about."

"Wouldn't that mean they were watching for you then?'

Sera wrinkled her nose. "Ew. Creepy."

I sat up straighter as a thought occurred to me. "I hope they don't go after Swivet." Hearing his name, my nug came over and squeaked at me. I boosted him onto the couch where he settled with a happy trill.

"Why would they do that?" Matze said.

"They always do in the tales. Crazy person hates the main character, it's always the pet that gets it first, usually in some grisly manner."

"Or the best friend," Sera said enthusiastically. "They trip across the nutter doing some mad thing to get the hero and aaaaarrrrrrgggghhh!" she imitated someone getting done in in a grisly fashion, complete with gargling death noises.

“You don’t seem too concerned,” Matze said.

“Nits in the tales never have arrows,” Sera said smugly.

“Lovely. I’ve been home one day and I’ve got some mad mage burning things in my door. Apparently I was safer in Tevinter,” I complained.

“Is there anything else you’ve done that someone could consider traitorous?” Matze asked.

“Well…I did banish the Grey Wardens from Orlais,” I mused. “Some people thought that was bordering on treasonous even though it was for their own safety.”

Matze stared at me. “Who exactly _are_ you?” He turned to Sera. “You said he’s a Jenny.”

“He is a Jenny. He _was_ the Inquisitor,” she said.

He turned his attention back to me. “The _Inquisitor_ Inquisitor. As in closing fade rifts with some sort of magic mark and fighting demons and stopping wars and killing ancient magic demigods.”

I nodded. “Yes, that Inquisitor. But it was just one demigod, and I had a lot of help.”

“You forgot Herald of Andraste.” Sera snickered. She knows how much I hate that.

“Do _not_ bloody start with that, please.” I glared at her.

“And then you disbanded the Inquisition, walked away from it and became a Jenny.” Matze seemed to be having trouble with the concept.

“In a nutshell, yes,” I replied.

"If you don't mind my asking… _why_? All that power — I thought that's what all shem- um, humans _want_."

"Like all elves deep down just want to go into the woods and frolic about barefoot?" 

As Sera made a face and said "Yech!" he at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "My apologies — that was poorly worded. But it does seem strange."

"Power isn't all it's cracked up to be," I said. "I didn't like all the strings that were attached; it wasn't worth it. Much more satisfying to have enough _money_ that you needn't ever worry."

He smiled. "Fair enough. If it makes you feel any better, I never believed the whole Herald of Andraste thing when people were talking about it. Of course, I'm not Andrastean."

"The fewer people that believe that, the happier I am."

"Well now that you're all happy with each other, what about the wanker rigging fireballs to your door?" Sera said.

"Right, we were adding Grey Wardens supporters to the list," Matze said.

"Again, though, why now? And why hasn't one person considered that once Corypheus was dead they could just as easily un-banish them?" I objected.

"They can do that?" Sera asked. "Why didn't _you_ then?"

"To be honest, I didn't even think about it. I would have un-banished them if it had occurred to me."

"So say something to Cassandra and she can say something to whatever big-hat's in charge of that sort of bollocks and problem solved if that's what's up your door-burner's arse," Sera said.

"I should do that anyway, but I think the Warden thing is something of a long shot," I said. "In the absence of a Blight, people don't think much about them. And why go after me rather than petition someone in charge to rescind the banishment now that the Inquisition's disbanded?"

"Family member?" Matze suggested.

"Wouldn't be calling him a traitor, just an arsehole," Sera said.

"And again, it's been years," I reiterated. "Anyone want anything? I'm getting coffee."

Sera said yes, Matze said no and I went into the kitchen. The coffee I'd made earlier had gone cold in all the excitement, but a quick heat spell took care of that. I could just hear Matze out in the other room: _He was really the Inquisitor? … I thought he'd be taller._

I ferried everything out to the living room and gave Swivet a cookie. "So I can't think of anything else I did with the Inquisition that could be considered traitorous," I said as I arranged my coffee cup so I could reach it with my right hand. "Teagan aside, we always got on with Ferelden, and we kept Celine on the throne so I don't know what they'd have to bitch about."

"That we _kept_ Celine on the throne?" Sera suggested.

"Not traitorous, I don't think. You simply maintained the status quo," Matze said. "If it's all right with you both, I'm going to go now. Would you like me to ask around, see if anyone's heard of someone angry enough to come after you? Not many people know me here, so they may be more willing to talk to me."

"Good idea," I said. "Now that we've been properly introduced, feel free to drop by."

"I'll do that." He stood, adjusting the two _very_ nice daggers he had attached to his belt. "I'll see you soon, Sera. _Dareth shiral._ " Sera said _later_ and I gave him a goodbye wave as he exited.

"He seems okay," I said. "Where'd you find him?"

"He found us," she corrected. "Poor bugger. He came here and joined because almost his whole clan was wiped out."

"Was that that one over in Wycome a few years ago?" Wycome is on the Eastern coast of the Free Marches, just south of Antiva.

"Yeah. Duke Antoine and his bloody noble wank-arsed friends made up a load of bollocks about Matze's clan to cover up some evil shite they were doing; got all the stupid twats worked up about it till they formed a mob and all but erased them. And they're still all sitting there in Wycome untouched," she said angrily.

"Damn. What clan was it?" 

"Lavellan. You know what the stupidest part of the whole bloody cock-up is? They were one of the clans that actually tried to get _on_ with humans."

I shook my head. "Figures. It’s a shame the Inquisiton didn't hear a bloody thing about it until it was over and done. Even if we'd managed to get someone over to Wycome it would've been pointless."

"The Friends of Red Jenny had people look for survivors. We found a few, but _way_ few. Thanks to Antoine I'm guessing most of them'll have joined Solas."

"Thanks the fuck a lot, Antoine. Are there plans to do anything about him?"

Sera smiled coldly. "Oh, we've got _plans_. It's just complicated when you're going after someone that bloody high up."

"Not thinking simple assassination, then?"

"Oh no. That's nowhere near enough. They need to be hurt, not just offed."

"I agree. Is there anything I can do?" Swivet moved closer to me on the couch and butted his head into my hand. I obliged him by scratching the spot between his ears that he likes.

"No, we've got people on it, including Matze. I don't think it's really your kind of thing."

I nodded. "You're probably right. But the offer stands if you need me."

"Brilliant," she smiled. "You wanna come to our place now? Dagna needs to see you."

"Sure, just let me finish my-" I stopped as we heard a loud noise outside. It was deep and explosive and the closest I can come writing it is _FWUMP!_ We both leapt up and dashed out the door.

The explosion had nothing to do with my mysterious door-besmircher; it had come from down the street. It didn't take long to find out where as a heavy-set woman came storming out of the bakery. Her entire front from face to waist appeared to be covered with a mess of flour and sticky batter; some of it was bright red, giving it a sort of grisly cheeriness. She was screaming bloody murder at the poor baker, who had trailed after her looking utterly gobsmacked. Sera burst out laughing.

"One of yours?" I asked, grinning myself.

"N-no. Must be whoever's been doing pranks," she gasped. "That one's absolutely cracking; wish I'd thought of it!"

"It _is_ pretty good," I allowed. "I recognize the woman — can’t remember her name, but she's one of the local nobles that always acts as though she's leagues above everyone else including her fellow nobles.” 

“Lady Demmler,” Sera supplied with a sneer. The lady in question scraped some of the mess off herself and flung it at the baker.

“I do feel a bit sorry for the baker, though."

"So buy something extra from her. It's worth it," she replied.

Once the excitement was over, we went back in so I could get my coat and top off Swivet's food and water bowls. On the way out I refreshed the illusion spell on my door and set wards; assuming the person was a mage, they'd see that they weren't going to be able to easily mess with my house again.


	4. Practical Magic

Sera and Dagna live in an area of Hasmal not far from mine. As far as I know, the neighborhood is unique to Hasmal and it's one of the attractions of the city to my mind. Most cities of any size have an alienage that most elves end up forced to live in because the other inhabitants won't tolerate them living anywhere else. One of Hasmal's oddities is it has no alienage. Instead, there's simply a district in the northwest part of town that has become the de facto neighborhood for any- and everyone who isn't considered acceptable in 'proper' society. This includes elves, dwarves who aren't well-connected enough to live elsewhere, the better sorts of criminals, and disreputable types like actors, musicians and mages. There appears to be a tacit agreement that the district keeps largely to itself and the city Watch largely ignores it. Naturally it has a reputation as some sort of lawless no-man's-land that only the brave or foolish dare enter, but in this case the reputation's largely undeserved. As long as you have a modicum of common sense, it's an interesting place. 

We were all living in Hasmal because after I disbanded the Inquisition, I'd taken Sera up on her offer to become a Friend of Red Jenny. Part of the deal was I'd get to choose the city I operated out of. By that time, Sera was tired of Orlais and willing to consider a change of venue, so we searched for something that appealed to all of us (Dagna included, of course). Hasmal fit our needs perfectly. In far too many cities Sera would have to pretend to be Dagna's servant to avoid being pressured into an alienage, and there are plenty of dwarves who wouldn't be impressed with Dagna's choice of partner. As a mage, I'm not immune to discrimination either, though it's much easier for me to blend in. Also, for groups like the Jennys it's a perfect base to operate from, and personally I liked the close proximity to Tevinter since I was already planning to travel there, hopefully with some regularity. 

It’s no coincidence that the northwest section of town became home to the city’s undesirables, as it gets more of the winds and dust blowing down from the Silent Plains to the north in Tevinter. At the extreme north, outside the city proper, you’ll find the closest thing Hasmal has to an alienage: a motley, disorganized sort of shanty town that just won’t go away. It’s peopled primarily with an ever-changing population of escaped slaves from Tevinter, the majority of which are elves. The city tolerates it — mainly because they’ve never quite figured out how to get rid of it and are loath to waste good money sending in soldiers — but makes it clear that the inhabitants are expected to move on. As most of the refugees want to put as much distance between themselves and Tevinter as possible, this policy hasn’t worked too badly for the city.

Hasmal in general is an oddity in the Free Marches; perhaps even in most of Thedas. It's technically a part of Nevarra — most of the history books seem to agree it was conquered by Nevarra back in the Blessed Age — but it's unlike anywhere else in that country, and Hasmal itself doesn't seem to agree that it's Nevarran except when it's convenient. Its location on the Minanter River is ideal, giving it rich agricultural lands and easy access via river travel to everywhere from Hunter Fell in the west all the way to the Antivan coast. Tantervale wraps around it to the south and east, Nevarra stretches out to the west, and directly north is Tevinter. Escaped slaves aside, it's an ideal crossroads between all those lands as well as Kirkwall further south, so for a relatively small place it gets an astounding number of travelers. If you want to avoid both dour Tantervale and the Nevarran authorities, Hasmal is ideal. A great deal of trade takes place between the Free Marches and Tevinter in Hasmal, both legitimate and clandestine. As a result, it's a surprisingly…open-minded place, I suppose you could say. It's profited greatly from its free-wheeling acceptance of pretty much everyone. Which isn't to say it's some egalitarian love-fest, but as long as you behave reasonably and have some coin, Hasmal is willing to let you live your life — or get yourself killed — with a minimum of interference. Since moving there I've concluded it's definitely my favourite city in the Free Marches; perhaps in all of southern Thedas.

We got to Sera's and told Dagna about the strange attack on my front door. She couldn't come up with anything more than we had concerning what I'd done that could be considered traitorous. She also had other things on her mind. "Sorry about the delay," I said, "I know you wanted me here for something."

"That's okay; it's not every day someone burns insults into your door," she smiled. "But if you're ready now-"

"I'm at your disposal," I promised her.

"I think you're going to like what you see," she said, leading the way into their kitchen/workshop. There was another dwarf already sitting at the table, sipping on a mug of beer that he raised to me in greeting. He had short brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard and dark, clever eyes. Ademar Bravis is also one of the most brilliant artificers I've ever met; I suddenly had high hopes for this meeting.

"Kai! I brought beer. Avail yourself of one and be prepared to feast your eyes on a work worthy of a paragon," he said cheerfully. 

I availed and pulled a stool up to the table.

"I'll have you know this was a screaming embuggerance every step of the way," he said.

"I'm sure the cost will be commensurate," I replied with a smile.

He was unruffled. "You get what you pay for. Allow me to unveil. Once you have admired it sufficiently, Dagna can take over and explain the rest." He directed my attention to the object in the centre of the table. It was covered with a piece of dark cloth which he removed with a flourish. "Feel free to examine it. A great deal of effort was put into making it relatively unbreakable."

I raised an eyebrow. "'Relatively'?"

"Given enough time and effort, anything is breakable." He winked. "That little beauty would take a _lot_ of effort, but I won't be accused of giving you unrealistic expectations."

"You truly are a paragon among dwarves," I said. I picked the thing up. It was a mechanical hand and forearm and even at a glance I could see the artistry that had gone into crafting it. I propped it against my left forearm to investigate. Despite Ademar’s assurances, I felt like trying to pick it up with the pincerlike grip of my left hand would damage it just because. “Maker’s breath, Ademar, this is brilliant,” I said. It moved like the real thing in every way. The fingers, the way the wrist moved, the way the parts interacted was exact. I couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to craft all the intricate components. 

“Well, it’s all -heh- bare bones at the moment so you can see how it works,” he said. “Then Dagna will have to add her genius to it before we can make it look and feel real.”

“Won’t it seize up after a while?” I asked, still moving the hand and wrist, feeling almost hypnotized by the perfect interplay of rods and joints and maker-knew-what. I could almost swear I saw little sparks dancing between the pieces as they moved.

“That’s the beauty of it!” Ademar crowed, “And the brilliance. Every single piece of it isn’t coated; it’s actually _bonded_ with lyrium.”

At that I tore my gaze away from the limb. Ademar was beaming and Dagna was grinning from ear to ear. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s…complicated,” Dagna said. “The breakthrough came when we tried _deep_ lyrium. You know — the kind you brought back from the Deep Roads when you were helping the woman from the Shaperate?”

“Valta,” I said absently, then with alarm, “Andraste’s balls, you don’t need me to go down there again do you?”

She laughed. “Sera already asked us that.”

“Bloody right I did,” Sera muttered darkly.

“No,” Dagna continued, “we have more than enough. Fortunately the Inquisition brought a lot back and it all ended up in the Undercroft.”

“Which means it all ended up with Dagna,” Sera said.

“Harritt said it made him nervous,” Dagna shrugged. “Anyway, we were trying to get the regular lyrium to play nice with the metal and it just wouldn’t. Then I remembered the deep lyrium.”

“It took a little coaxing,” Ademar began.

“And a few new alloys,” Dagna added.

“But damned if we didn’t find a way not just to get them to play nice, but to get married and settle down together,” Ademar finished with understandable pride.

“That’s amazing,” I said. “Has that ever been done before?”

“Not to our knowledge,” Ademar said. “At least, not the _way_ we’ve come up with.”

“It’s far more elegant and stable,” Dagna explained.

“If they weren’t surfacers they’d be paragons for sure. Stupid cave dwarfs,” Sera said.

“What it means for you is no, it won't seize up or require any application of lubricants and it should last just this side of forever. But it’s only half done,” Ademar said. “Dagna?”

“Without the right runes, it’s just an incredible work of engineering art,” Dagna took over. “And that’s what we need to talk to you about.”

“Anything you need,” I said immediately.

Dagna sucked in her cheeks. "We'll see. I've been working on the runecrafting for it — it's fascinating. _Completely_ different from just adding some extra oomph to a weapon or armor. We need the rune - or runes, actually - to do a few different things: they have to facilitate the interaction between you and the arm so when you want it to do something, it does it. See, not only do they have to actually run the arm, but they have to recognize when you're _wanting_ the arm to do something, not just having a stray thought that has nothing to do with it doing anything even though it might sound the same."

"Like you could be thinking 'scratch' because you have an itch, or you could have gotten a bad dice throw. Or 'clap' because you just saw a good show or you just found out you contracted a social disease," Ademar elucidated.

Sera snort-laughed as I nodded. "Interesting choice of examples, but I can see how that's much more complicated than it seems at first glance. What powers the runes?"

Dagna grinned. "Oh, that's the easiest part. You do. Or, your energy does. All you have to do is stay alive. And it helps that you're a mage because you're always channeling a little magical energy; gives the runes more to work with."

"So this could work for a non-mage as well?"

"Anything living," Ademar said. "The magical energy just greases the gears more efficiently."

"But that's not all," Dagna continued. "It also has to only listen to _you_. Otherwise it could be possible for another mage to tell it what to do. You can see how that could be a problem."

I could imagine it all too easily; not all mages are nice people. "Scary," I agreed. "So how do you prevent that?"

"Well, that's the part that you might have a problem with," Dagna said.

"Or not," Ademar added.

"In order to key it only to you…it needs your blood. We're not _quite_ sure how much," Dagna concluded.

"Are we talking a few drops or..." I trailed off.

"Um. From what we've determined so far, the rune-"

"or runes," Ademar interjected.

"-or runes sort of…need to be swimming in it," Dagna said with an apologetic smile.

 _Well that was somewhat off-putting._ "Swimming in it," I echoed. "Like _all the time_?"

"Oh, no! Just when I'm doing the crafting and enchanting. Once the enchantment's done, they should be good - well - forever. Or nearly that long," Dagna smiled again, looking simultaneously worried and thrilled.

"Then what you're telling me is the only way to make the arm work properly is with blood magic," I said.

"Technically," Ademar said. "But it's not like you can run out and find someone to sacrifice for the cause. It has to be your blood or it won't be keyed to you."

I smiled slowly and winked at Sera, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet during all this. "So it's _practical_ blood magic."

"Don't you go dragging me into this," she protested. "How do you remember that stuff?" Something over a year ago we'd had a conversation where I'd accused her of being fine with _practical_ magic despite her supposed dislike of all magic.

Dagna and Ademar shrugged at each other. "Seems to be the only thing that'll get it to do what we want," he said.

Dagna frowned. "I suppose we could try other bodily fluids, but-"

"That's quite all right," I hurriedly interrupted. "I'm fine with the blood. Blood magic isn't inherently evil; it's just a thing. It's what people do with it that determines whether it's evil. Unfortunately it tends to attract the sort of people that slip into abusing it pretty easily. Considering it's got to be _my_ blood, I don't think I'll be tempted to do anything stupid."

"Good!" Dagna said, looking relieved. "Sera said you'd probably be fine with it but-"

"People get so damned squirrely at the mention of blood _anything_ , you never know," Ademar finished.

"So what do you need me to do?" I asked.

"We won't be able to get the arm working overnight, if that's what you were thinking," Ademar said.

"I need to test runes, make sure everything's perfect before we incorporate them into the arm," Dagna explained. "It's not like Ademar has spares lying around. Sooooooo…I'm going to need at least a few donations in order to get it right. This is a new field of crafting, so there's no rule book I can follow. It could even be-"

I sighed. "How much do you need and how often?"

With a hopeful smile she held up a bottle she'd obviously had at the ready. It looked like it could hold about the same amount as a pint glass of beer. "That much…" I said faintly. 

"That's all I need to start with," she said cheerfully. "After that, it depends on how the testing goes. It works better if it's fresh, so I'll have to let you know."

"Then we may as well get this over with." I offered up my right arm.

With a _yech_ Sera made a nice, deep cut into a vein and I bled down a funnel into the bottle. A quick healing spell put things back to normal. If it got me the mechanical marvel sitting on Dagna's work table, it was worth any amount of blood. Suddenly I found myself intensely dissatisfied with the prosthesis I'd been using. *****

* * *

***** It occurs to me I neglected to mention anything about that. Just before I disbanded the Inquisition, my left arm was removed a ways below the elbow. It's been a pain in the arse, not the least because I'm naturally left-handed. Ademar and Dagna have been working with me on prostheses. The one I had at that point had some limited wrist movement and I could manipulate the "hand" manually to grip something, but that was it. It had a nice illusion spell attached to it via one of Dagna's runes so it _looked_ like a real arm, but it was just a glorified hunk of wood.

* * *

I studied the new arm again. It looked like Ademar had already configured the top to fit my arm. He said, "Once we're closer to being ready I'll take more precise measurements so we can fit it to you comfortably. It's going to need padding. What you're seeing there is a result of the casting I took of your arm."

"It's amazing work, Ademar. Thank you," I said.

He shrugged, but couldn't quite keep from beaming. "Thank us when you've got it equipped."

I left shortly after. What with everything that had happened in the last not-even-a-day, I felt like I needed some time to myself. Thankfully, I made it home without incident.


	5. Things That Go Bump in the Night

"…and I think that's everything," I concluded. 

"Honestly, amatus, a simple 'Sera and Dagna say they miss you and my nug's much bigger' would have been sufficient. Wasn't your life supposed to _stop_ being eventful aside from those magical moments when you're with me?" Dorian's voice said through the sending crystal.

"Something seems quite determined to ensure that doesn't happen," I replied. I was lounging on my couch with my feet up on the coffee table as I talked to him. Swivet had worn himself out batting a ball around the living room after I'd gotten home and was now lying on the floor; I'd have thought he was asleep if his ears hadn't kept turning as he followed our conversation. "You should see that arm, though. It's- just a moment," I interrupted myself.

Swivet had abruptly jumped to his feet and was making a noise I'd never heard low in his throat. "What's going on?" Dorian said.

"I'm not sure." I stood up too and began to ready some spells in case I should need them. The next moment something boomed against the front door as though a giant had heaved a rock at it, triggering my wards. Swivet made a noise I _did_ recognize: an alarm call. 

"Kai?" came Dorian's voice, "What in the maker's name was that?"

"Not sure yet, but I don't think it's friendly," I said as I picked my coat up and pulled it on (a bit awkwardly, as I'd taken my arm off). I've had that coat since the Inquisition days and it's hardened and spelled to the point where it can withstand damn near anything you throw at it. "Hang on - I'm going to have a look."

Swivet had returned to the low growly noise he'd been making as I put up a barrier spell and eased the door open. It was easy enough to see what had made the noise: it was, in fact, a large rock. "Very fucking funny," I muttered. As I closed the door Swivet made his alarm call again, this time making a mad dash to the far end of the living room. I started backing in that direction myself and a moment later _something_ came crashing through the living room window. _Of course - the rock triggered the wards already. Gotta change how that works._

As Swivet kept sounding his alarm, his ears now flat against his head, I threw up a stronger barrier spell and joined him at the far end of the room. The object was about the size of a half brick and was glowing a sullen, ugly combination of orange, purple and black. As I cast a containment spell at it, it made an unearthly screech and exploded. No mere fireball this time; there was a blast of heat accompanied by a wave of nasty-looking darts that flew out in all directions.

Dorian was demanding, "Kai, what the bloody hell is happening? Talk to me! At least let me know you're alive, damn you."

I walked cautiously back to the coffee table. "Sorry, love. We're alive," I said as I knelt down to examine one of the little darts. "My secret admirer delivered another little gift. At least I hope it's the same person." I picked up the dart with a small force spell; I didn't want to take the chance of letting one touch my skin. Swivet, now perfectly calm, watched me with interest.

"What _was_ that? It sounded like you stepped on a fade demon," Dorian said.

I set the dart on a piece of paper I'd taken out with vague intentions of writing my mother and started a slow circuit of the room, picking up others and depositing them on the paper as I described what occurred. Finally I reached the spot where the object had landed. "And there you have it: same son of a bitch," I told Dorian.

Seared into the floor was the word **TRAITOR**.

“So far they seem intent on making me pay a fortune in home repairs,” I complained.

“Not funny, amatus,” Dorian said. “Projectiles sound a bit more serious than a simple desire to sully your décor. Do you think that was meant to kill you?”

“I’ve no idea,” I admitted. “If they know anything about me, they’d know I could easily defend myself against this sort of attack. Perhaps they were hoping they’d get lucky?”

“You need to find out what’s on those darts. I'll bet you even money they're poisonous.”

“I'll be shocked if they're not but you're right, I need to know what kind of poison,” I said. “Even if it didn’t do anything serious to me, there’s Swivet to consider. He knew something was happening before I did.”

Dorian sighed. “If those blasted eluvians were trustworthy, I’d _insist_ you come back here this moment.”

I chuckled. “And to think you wanted me to stay down here because it was _safer_.”

“Perhaps I should come down there instead."

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “Any other time I’d love the idea, but aside from the fact you know you can’t get away that long — Andraste’s tits, I can’t believe I’m saying this — I don’t think you’d be able to help and more importantly I think it’s safer for you to stay up there right now. We have no idea how far this lunatic is willing to go with their vendetta against me.”

“If _anything_ else happens, promise you’ll tell me,” he said. “If you leave me in the dark I’ll develop worry lines, and you don’t want that on your conscience.”

“I’d sooner attend another Orlesian opera than do anything that monstrous,” I assured him. “Though I do think it’s quite unfair that you’re not here to indulge me in _I just survived an assassination attempt_ sex.”

“Damn. I hear that’s the best kind. Now as well as worry lines I shall be depressed and you know what that does to one’s complexion,” he said mournfully.

“I’ll be equally depressed, you know,” I reminded him.

“Well, yes, but you already lean towards that rugged look, so it’s not as devastating.”

“You know, I’ve been called many things, but I think this is the first time ‘rugged’ was one of them,” I said with a laugh. “You should see these darts. Nasty little things. Looks like they’re covered with barbs or scales so when you pull them out they take chunks with them.”

“Send me one,” he said immediately. “Are they magical?”

“Not in any way I can sense. Just nasty. I’ll get someone to look at them tomorrow who can tell me if they’re poisoned or not. Stay back, Swivet.” My nug had come up beside me while I was inspecting the things. He looked at me, sniffed at the darts without getting any closer to them and clicked at me scornfully before walking away. I shook my head. “All right, you made your point. I apologize.”

“What point?” Dorian said.

“Not you; the nug. Apparently I’m an idiot for thinking I needed to warn him away from them. Anyway, I’ll get one of these things off to you tomorrow; I’ll use one of the messenger ravens so it gets to you more quickly.”

With that our conversation meandered off into more personal, less pertinent things until we said our goodbyes for the night. I didn’t have anything to fix my living room window with — my magical talents definitely don’t extend to glass repair — so I just closed and locked the shutters. Whoever had a bug up their arse about my being a so-called traitor was beginning to annoy me. I drank two bottles of beer and decided I’d better get some sleep. Though I usually forbid it, that night I let Swivet sleep on the end of the bed; I figured he’d earned it.


	6. Investigations

The next morning I slept late. Perhaps I should say I reverted to my normal habits, as when I'm left to my own devices my sleeping pattern quickly skews toward nocturnal. Whichever way you look at it, I didn't wake up until I heard Swivet squeaking importantly at me and more faintly, a knocking at my front door. I yanked on my trousers and pounded downstairs, Swivet running ahead of me so he could be first. I'd expected it to be Sera or perhaps Ademar, but it was Matze standing there when I opened it. Oh well - one advantage to shaving your head is you never _look_ like you've just crawled out of bed even when you have.

I saw his eyes widen and travel to my left side but didn't make the connection right away: I was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and hadn't bothered putting the prosthesis on. He didn’t mention it, just said, "Did you know there’s a very large rock in front of your door?”

I looked at him and then the rock stupidly for a second until my brain kicked into gear and remembered where it had come from. “Damn. I forgot about that.” I moved it off to the side with a force spell and invited him in.

Swivet gave him a welcoming trill and wandered off towards the kitchen, guessing correctly that I'd be heading that way for coffee. 

I indicated Matze should have a seat at the kitchen table as I pumped water for the coffee and heated it with a thought as I poured food in Swivet's bowl. "I woke you up, didn't I?" the elf said.

I shrugged. "No worries; I probably should have been getting up anyway." Fortunately I had some coffee pre-ground so I didn't have to piss about doing that, just threw it into the container and waited for it to blend.

"Can I help with anything?" Matze asked. His voice had taken on a tone I'd become familiar with — solicitous with vaguely uncomfortable overtones.

I smiled at him. "No, I've got this down to a science. I take it you didn't know about the arm?"

He made a face. "Was I that obvious? I apologize. Again."

"No need," I assured him. "No one told you, and the fake arm has a nice little illusion spell affixed to it so it _looks_ real. So what brings you here? I'm assuming it wasn't merely the desire for my sparkling company."

He laughed softly and said, "I believe I've learned a bit about your door-burner. Thought you might be interested."

I stifled a yawn. "Definitely. They've expanded their repertoire since we last talked."

"Ah, I take it the rock was theirs? What else have they done?"

"I can show you once I wake up a bit," I promised, gesturing at the coffee maker. "Want some?"

He shook his head. "No, thank you. I never developed the taste. Do you have tea?"

"I think someone might have left some here…" I opened a cupboard, having a vague memory of a container being stuffed in the back.

"Never mind," he said with a smile. "I haven't lived in a city long enough to feel comfortable with mystery tea from the backs of cupboards."

"Fair enough." I pushed down the plunger that forced the grounds to the bottom and poured a cup, finally joining Matze at the kitchen table. Swivet finished his breakfast, checked to make sure neither of us was eating anything, and wandered off towards the living room. "So what did you find out?"

"There _has_ been someone asking about you. Apparently they showed up about a month ago, give or take. They weren't exactly subtle about it, either."

"Asking what sorts of things?"

"It sounds like they were mining for any information they could get. Where you live, what you do, anything people could tell them, really. Apparently they had some story about wanting to hire you for something, but no one was fooled."

"Well they obviously know where I live," I said drily.

"Not a difficult thing to find out," Matze said. "Most of the people they asked don't know much about you anyway. You might be interested to know that you're _the bald guy who dresses in black and knows a lot about Tevinter._ Some added that you're _friends with that mad elf girl_ and _some sort of mage._ The Friends of Red Jenny, your Magister lover, the missing arm — none of those came up at all."

"Really? Hunh." I thought about that as I drank coffee. Funny what sticks in peoples' minds. "Sounds like the Tevinter angle minus Dorian keeps coming up."

"Well, you do have notes up advertising your services," Matze said. "It could be as simple as that. Most people try to avoid the place, so someone volunteering to go there-"

"Not volunteering. I charge professional rates," I interjected.

"Even so. It's unusual, so people remember that." He gave me a half-grin. "They probably wouldn't remember that you’re bald so much if you didn't pair it with the _wears-all-black_ , for example."

"If they came here looking for me, they already knew that part," I said.

“Then it’s not just an affectation to bolster your image as a badass outrider who’s unafraid of Tevinter?”

I laughed. “No, I’ve been doing it for years. I shave my head because it’s more comfortable and less maintenance. Also, no one can grab your hair and slit your throat in a battle…or a dark alley, for that matter. As for the clothes, I feel impossibly loud and clownish when I wear things that _aren’t_ black. I’ve accepted it as a quirk of my personality and have no desire to change it.”

He nodded. “I’ve encountered stranger quirks. It may even work to your advantage, those being the primary things people remember.”

“Where all did you ask?”

He told me; they were all places in the northwest district that I’d gone to but never frequented regularly. “Perhaps you should ask nearby — places I go all the time.”

He frowned. “Would they talk to me around here? You may have noticed I am an elf.”

“In this area, yes,” I assured him. “We’re not that far from northwest. Most people around here still wouldn’t be considered acceptable in polite society — we just have enough money or enough dirt on people that they don’t quite dare suggest we’d be more comfortable in northwest proper. There are actually a couple of elven families in the area.”

“Then I’ll give it a try,” he agreed. “Oh! I got so distracted I nearly forgot the strangest part.”

I poured another coffee. “Strange? How?”

“You were probably right about your enemy being a mage strange,” he answered as I sat back down. “The one thing that was consistent with everyone I spoke with: they couldn’t remember a thing about the person who was asking them the questions.”

“Nothing?”

He nodded. “Nothing. No physical description whatsoever. Not even whether they were male or female. They just remembered some sort of hooded robe or travelling cloak. That would have to be magic, wouldn’t it?”

“Sounds like it.”

“But if they could do that, why not remove the memory of the conversation entirely?” 

“More work with more potential to fuck up,” I explained. “Removing memories wholesale is fairly advanced mind magic, and it’s not exact, especially if you’re in a hurry. You could take too much and inadvertently damage the person, or take too little, in which case you may get someone who’s both curious and angry because they know you fucked with their memory somehow. How you go about it also differs from individual to individual; it’s not a one-size-fits-all process. But if you just remove something relatively inconsequential to the subject from a conversation that was already unimportant to them, their own mind does half the job for you. We’re all very good at forgetting things we don’t really care about.”

He nodded. “Interesting. Simple, yet elegant.”

“Well, the bastard’s definitely a mage,” I said. “With some skill at mind magic, but that’s not their only trick.” I told him about the attack the night before and led him to the living room. I kicked aside the area rug I’d thrown over the latest accusation — I hadn’t bothered with an illusion spell — then showed him the darts.

He knelt down in front of the coffee table and studied the darts intently, pulling out one of his daggers to move one around. Like me, he took care not to let any touch his skin. “Fascinating,” he finally said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen darts exactly like these before.”

“Fortunately they gave me enough that I can give several people a sample,” I said drily.

“Nasty little things, aren’t they.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what I said.”

He stood up, resheathing the dagger. “Well, why don’t I do a little more digging around here before too many people know I’ve been asking questions. With any luck, your mage slipped up somewhere.”

“I’d appreciate that,” I said. “I’ll get on getting these darts to the right people. Would you be willing to meet me back here later?”

He nodded. “Not expecting another attack?”

“Would you attack again this soon if you were them?”

“Probably not,” he conceded. “You haven’t had time to be properly terrified yet. Though I have to say, you don’t seem the type to _get_ terrified.”

“I’m not,” I agreed. “At the moment I’m annoyed. If they keep it up, I’m going to get pissed off. I’m afraid my capacity for terror was pretty well burned out of me some years ago.”

He looked at me, eyes momentarily haunted. “Sorry to say, I know exactly what you mean. Shall we say two hours?”

“Best make it three,” I said. “I haven’t even gotten completely dressed yet.”

“Three it is.” With a parting nod, he left.

**=#=**

Once I'd woken up properly, I carefully folded the piece of paper with the darts in it and placed the whole thing in a small leather pouch that fit into a coat pocket. I downed the last of my coffee, strapped on the arm and pulled on a long-sleeved shirt. As I put my coat on, Swivet made it clear that he wanted to come with me. I felt bad about it, but I had to say no. He tried again, pulling out all his _too cute to be denied_ moves.

"No," I told him. "I have to go places that may not even allow nugs. They might even want to eat you."

He made another noise I'd never heard before: low and raspy like an unoiled hinge. Combined with the look on his face, I'd guess it was nug for 'bullshit'. I couldn’t tell you if he actually understood what I said or was just responding to my tone, but at times it really does seem it's the former. I told him 'no' again a bit more firmly and got a death look for my trouble, but he subsided. Feeling guilty, I told him I'd bring him something back and left, refreshing both the cover-up illusion on the door and my wards.

As I walked, I realized I didn't have the slightest idea where to find someone to make me a new door and repair my window and floorboards, or even if the same person would do all three. I certainly wasn't going to attempt to do it myself. Fortunately my first stop was the stables; I assumed someone there would likely know where to find a carpenter, if that's what I needed. 

For a few extra silver a month, the stable owners — a late-middle-aged couple whose two daughters pretty much ran it these days — let me keep my messenger ravens in the loft. I didn't use them very frequently, but still needed them on occasion to communicate with Cassandra and Leliana ***** , or in rare cases like this, to send something small to Dorian. I kept a supply box next to the birds from which I retrieved a metal capsule. I carefully placed one dart in it. That capsule went inside a larger one along with a short note to Dorian, and the whole affair was secured to my Tevinter bird. I gave it the command to go and watched as it flew away on the long journey north, then went back downstairs.

* * *

***** For those not familiar with them, Cassandra and Leliana are both friends and former colleagues. Cass was a member of the Seekers of Truth (think of them as kind of the secret police of the Chantry), then the Right Hand to Divine Justinia (think head of _all_ the Chantry's police), then founded the Inquisition, and finally became head of the Chantry herself as the Divine Victoria. Leliana was a bard (think spy and assassin, but with musical talent as well), then a Chantry lay sister (I gather something traumatic happened that flipped her religion switch; I never really pried). She was one of the "Hero of Fereldan's" inner circle during the Fifth Blight, after which she went to work for the Chantry, eventually becoming the Left Hand to Justinia (i.e. spymaster). Founding the Inquisition with Cass, she was Spymaster for it as well. Now she's overseeing our efforts against Fen'Harel and maker knows whatever other shadowy things. Oh — and she also breeds nugs.

* * *

Neither of the daughters was around, but I found the stableboy, Jasker, cleaning some tack. "Messere Kai!" He set the tack down, looking happy to do so. "We got your horse squared away proper t'other night. Was there something you needed?"

"Actually, I was wondering if anyone here knew of a good carpenter," I said. "I've got some repairs that need doing."

"What sort of repairs? You got termites?"

"No, just a broken window and a door and some floorboards that need replacing."

He suddenly looked concerned. "Someone having a go at your house, Messere?"

"Why do you ask?" I said calmly.

"Well, just there's been folks asking about you and now you got house bits coming up broken, I thought…"

"Who's been asking about me?"

"Today there was one of them elves with the face tattoos. But he wasn't asking about you, he was asking about folk _asking_ about you, if you see what I mean."

I smiled. "I know exactly what you mean. He's a friend who's helping me."

"Oh, that's all right then," he said, looking relieved.

"Who else has been asking about me, Jasker?"

He frowned. "I can tell you same as I told your elf friend. I don't rightly remember aught about them, but I know they was asking after you: where you live, do you come here much, is this where you keep your horse, all manner of things we didn't think they had no business knowing. They said they wanted to hire you like your card says, but they didn't want to know _nothing_ about passage to Tevinter. So we didn't tell 'em shite, pardon my Orlesian. Did we do right?"

"You did perfectly," I assured him. "Thank you."

He nodded happily. "Weren't no bother. You're a good customer. If someone _is_ having a go at you, we could keep an eye out, like. Hard to spot someone when you can't remember what they looked like, but you never know, we might see something that helps."

"I'd appreciate that, Jasker," I said. "Now if you can point me in the direction of a carpenter, you'll have made my day."

He grinned. "Now on that, it just so happens that I have a cousin what apprentices for the best carpenter in town. You tell 'em I sent you, might be as you'll get a better deal."

I had my doubts that my knowing the apprentice's cousin would impress the carpenter enough to give me any kind of deal (let alone whether he actually was the best carpenter in Hasmal), but as it would probably be the apprentice doing something as simple as a door and some floorboards, it couldn't hurt. I thanked Jasker, looked in on my horse, and left with directions to the carpenter's shop.

It turned out I was correct on both counts: The carpenter didn’t suggest a discount would be in order despite mentioning Jasker’s recommendation, and he quickly assigned my simple job to Jasker’s cousin, a very capable-looking young woman name of Kalley. I arranged for her to come by later that day to get measurements and set out for my next destination.


	7. A Friend of a Friend

The _Hightown Emporium_ is in what could be considered the better part of the northwest district. Its primary business is in potions, herbs and tinctures of all sorts, but they have a smattering of nearly anything else you might want as well. Its proprietor is a Friend of the Friends of Red Jenny; that is, she's not a Jenny herself, but she's allied with us and willing to provide information and the occasional service. Sera swears she knows practically everything about everything, so I was hoping that would include my nasty little darts.

When I entered the Emporium I thought I was in luck, as the woman I wanted to see was behind the counter and there was only one customer. Unfortunately, that customer — a young woman with very complicated hair and an equally complicated set of mage robes — was one of those ghastly people who seemingly has five hundred questions and isn't about to leave until every one of them is answered. I judged she'd already been at it a while, as the motherly proprietor was looking decidedly battle-weary. I had a desultory look around the shop as the girl demanded information about every single bloody item in the extensive potion supply section: _What's this one? What does it do? How does it interact with the other one? What if you mix it with Thing A? Is there a cheaper version that does the same thing?_ and on and on. It was clear she had no intention of leaving until she'd squeezed a free course in alchemy out of the place. I didn't have time for that. Fortunately, the girl was so busy torturing the proprietor she hadn't even noticed me enter, so I walked out quietly and prepared to put an end to her monopoly on the woman's attention.

Two streets over was a shop that sold used clothing. For a few coppers I was able to pick up a fairly convincing knock-off of the sort of hat that was all the rage with the nobility (at that moment it was velvety fabrics and floppy brims) and a black cape with a rich, red lining that looked rather posh as long as you didn't inspect it too closely. The rest was all going to be attitude.

I don't know if I mentioned it previously, but I actually come from a noble family. Ostwick nobility, but still. Eighteen years stuck in the Ostwick Circle removed any attitude I may have had about my station in society, but I spent my first thirteen in the rarefied circles of the high-born. As Inquisitor I spent a fair bit of time in the thick of Orlesian Society and their damnable, precious Game, not to mention playing diplomat and host to what seemed a never-ending parade of them in the course of my duties. Dorian's from a level of nobility that makes mine look like dirt farmers (though we’re apparently _very_ distantly related) and I've met at least a handful of his crowd on my trips to Minrathous. I'm not saying all this to brag, but as set-up. One thing I know very well is how spoiled, entitled nobles act. Now it would actually come in useful.

I donned my minimalist costume out of sight of the Emporium and returned. This time I threw the door open and strode in like I owned the place. Sure enough, the girl was still there. She stopped in mid-sentence and gave me an annoyed glare as I walked straight up to the counter. I pushed her to one side so I could take up _all_ the space, ignoring the outraged noise she made, and said loudly, "Is the owner here? I have an appointment. I am _Lord_ Rutherford."

"I am the owner," the woman behind the counter said.

"Ah. Good. Close up the shop then. We have business to attend to."

She gave me a sharp-eyed look and said, "Yes, your lordship."

The girl cleared her throat loudly, announcing, "Ex _cuse_ me, but I am a customer and I was here first."

I looked her up and down. "How nice for you. You may leave now."

"I haven't made my purchases yet," she snapped.

"Yes yes, I'm sure your purchases are terribly important." I looked down my nose at her. "Something to attract a man, I expect." I gave her a lascivious smirk. "Or perhaps something to ensure you're not already with child."

"I am a _mage_ , you- your Lordship." She was practically vibrating with rage.

"Of course you are, my dear. That's why you're wearing the pretty robes, no doubt. Now run along, why don't you. I'm sure you can find a nice big _staff_ to play with." I gave her another lascivious smirk and licked my lips.

The girl was turning an interesting shade of red when the owner intervened, bustling out from behind the counter to take the girl's arm. "Perhaps you should come back another time, dear. Lord Rutherford _does_ have an appointment."

"Yes. Perhaps I should." She allowed herself to be led to the door, glaring daggers at me the entire way.

I gave her a smarmy wave and mimed a wet kiss with a suggestion of tongue. If looks could kill, she would have turned me to paste right then and there. The owner made sympathetic, nothing-we-can-do-about-it noises as she flipped the sign on the door to 'Closed' and shut it firmly behind the girl.

For a few moments neither of us spoke. The owner turned slowly and said, "What in the name of Andraste's furry ass was that?"

I grinned, removing the hat and cape. "That was me rescuing you. For selfish reasons, I admit, but you did look like you could use rescuing."

She laughed, "Maker, I certainly did. 'Lord Rutherford' indeed; you're that friend of Sera's."

I nodded. "Kai Trevelyan."

"And I'm Mikal Welton. Pleased to meet you, Kai. You said you came here for a reason?"

"Much as I'd like you to believe I have a sideline in rescuing shopkeepers from dreadful customers, yes, I did."

"Is this an over the counter sort of problem or a back room sort?" 

"I'm not really sure," I admitted. "I'd err on the side of back room, though."

"Follow me, then," she said, walking around me and gesturing to a curtained doorway behind the counter. Behind the curtain was a short hallway leading to a large room filled with… well, everything. I couldn't imagine how she kept track of what was where, as the sheer variety of goods was impressive. It appeared a good deal of her business had nothing to do with the shop we'd just passed through. One section of the room held an area that had been partially walled off. It had a stove, a small ice box, some cabinetry, a cot and a table with a few chairs. She indicated I should take one of the chairs as she lit the stove and put a kettle on. "Tea?" she offered.

"Do you have coffee?"

"Sorry, love, can't abide the stuff. Closest I can come is a stronger tea."

"That'll be fine," I said. "I hope it wasn't a problem, closing up the shop."

She laughed. "After tolerating that nitwit? I need the break. This will also convince her that 'Lord Rutherford' really did have an appointment if she tries to loiter about. _Is_ there a Lord Rutherford?"

"Not that I'm aware of," I said. "Ser Rutherford is a former Templar who lives in Ferelden, so I don't think he's in any danger of her taking revenge on him."

"Lucky for him," she said as she took the other chair. "You do a very good noble sleazeball; I rather wanted to hit you myself."

"Then I count myself lucky you recognized me before you did." 

"I've seen you around and you do have a rather distinctive look. That hat threw me off, though." The water hit a boil and she got up to add the tea.

"Just as well — makes it less likely she'll recognize me if she ever sees me around."

"You should keep it," she advised. "You never know when silly things like that may come in handy."

"Spoken from experience?" I probed a bit.

She gave me a crooked smile. "You'll not be getting my life story out of me that easily, lad." 

I watched her watch the tea steep. "You know, when I was her age the _last_ thing you'd do is run about telling people you're a mage. You'd be grabbed by Templars and thrown into a Circle so quickly you wouldn't know what hit you. Actually, when I was her age I _was_ locked firmly away in a Circle."

"It's a new world out there," Mikal said philosophically. "I think when it comes to the treatment of you mages, a better one overall, but I've always been fond of mages. This is probably a foolish question, but do you take anything in your tea?"

I shook my head emphatically. "No, thank you."

"I thought as much." She poured two cups, handed me mine and sat back down. "So what mysterious mission brings you here just in time to rescue me from death by tedium?"

"Well-" I stopped, wondering how to frame the story. "I know you talk to Sera regularly, so… how much do you actually know about me? Just so I know what I need to explain." 

"Is it important?" Her eyes met mine. They were a pale blue verging on gray, and you could see the keen intelligence behind them.

"I think it might be," I replied. "I'm getting the feeling things might be getting complicated."

She nodded slowly and sipped her tea. "A good answer that deserves a good answer. Very well, Kai Trevelyan, I'll tell you I already knew your name. I know you ended up a Friend of Red Jenny by way of the Ostwick Circle, with a few years' detour to lead a little rogue group called the Inquisition. I know you're a dangerous man who doesn't see himself as dangerous. You're also a good friend and that rarest of things: an honest man who actually has some knowledge of his limitations. You're not attracted to women, your lover is a Tevinter magister, you have an astounding lack of prejudice towards other races, you're missing your left forearm, you have some sort of odd obsession with wearing black, you drink too much when you get depressed, you shave your head, and you recently acquired a pet nug that you named Swivet. You may now pick your jaw up off the table."

I was staring at her, gobsmacked. "How- how do you _know_ all that?" I demanded.

She smiled. "I wasn't always a humble shopkeeper, you know. At one time, knowing that much information about everyone could be the difference between life and death for me. It's a tough habit to break."

I looked at her more closely. In middle age, she was a striking woman, though she hid it behind unremarkable clothing, dusty blonde hair tacked up in a practical braid. She must have been stunning in her youth, and I say that with no prurient interest whatsoever. "Mikal, I think there's much more to you than I could imagine," I finally said.

She grinned, "You think correctly. Now that you know what I know, what have you brought me and what do I need to know first?"

"Somebody is angry with me. Possibly very angry. I both do and don't know why." I gave her a brief outline of what had happened over the last few days, pulled the leather pouch out of my coat pocket and fished the paper holding the darts out, sliding it over to her. "These are the darts. I've never seen the like, and neither had Sera's friend Matze."

"The Dalish fellow?" she asked as she opened the paper.

"That's him."

She frowned as she looked at the darts, reached into a pocket of her work apron and pulled out a small, sharp dagger she used to push one away from the others. "You can make a light, can't you? Make one above the paper for me; I need to see these more clearly."

I did as she asked. “Whiter and brighter, please.” I whitened and brightened. She smiled. “Maker, I love having mages around.”

As she studied the dart I said, “You could have found out most of that from Sera.”

“Got you worried now, do I?” She chuckled. “She thinks very highly of you.”

“Highly enough to tell you I drink too much when I get depressed,” I said drily.

“Well? Do you?” She got up and opened a drawer in a cabinet next to the table, pulled out a large magnifying glass and sat back down.

“… Yes,” I admitted. If I’m to be honest, the last months of the Inquisition I spent fully half the time in various states of inebriation.

“You want to watch that, boy,” she said pleasantly. “It can bite you in the ass.”

“I know.” I didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask. 

Finally she looked up at me. "I've seen these, or something very like them, before, but it was a very long time ago. Did you touch any of them?"

I shook my head. "I could already see they were designed to rip a chunk out of you if you try to pull them out. I figure anything that nasty is probably poisoned too."

"A wise assumption," she agreed. "Let's see if they are, shall we? Follow me."

She folded the paper containing the darts back up and led me down an aisle flanked with a fascinating assortment of goods, if only I'd had time to stand there and take it all in. We climbed a narrow set of stairs that disembarked on an equally narrow landing. She unlocked a tatty-looking door and waved me in. I was mildly surprised to find myself in a large, airy and thoroughly pleasant attic room. One side was clearly devoted to her potion-and-tincture making, with shelves of ingredients, worktables, burners, flasks and all manner of things alchemical that I could only loosely identify. They'd taught us a bit about the alchemical side of magic when I was in the Circle, but I have to admit I found most of it impossibly dull and paid very little attention beyond what was required to complete the course. The floors were bare, finished wood with practical, spill-resistant mats in front of the worktables. For all the work that obviously took place there, the air smelled only faintly of chemicals.

The other side of the room was a little oasis of cheerful throw rugs and comfortable chairs arranged around a fireplace that was currently unlit. I raised an eyebrow at her. "I have to say, I was expecting something much more…eldritch."

She laughed. "More dank walls and a lingering scent of despair and unfortunate acid spills? When you work with potions and the like, good ventilation and good lighting are essential. This attic has more of both than whatever you were picturing. Didn't they teach you any of that in that circle you were in?"

"Probably. I didn't pay much attention," I admitted. "They definitely didn't mention the importance of fireplaces and comfortable seating, though. I would have remembered that."

"That's because they were academics. This is my home and my livelihood. I see no reason why everything must be grim and uncomfortable just to make a few potions and what have you." She set the paper on a work table and fished out a dart with a pair of tweezers. "Now, let's see what undoubtedly unpleasant surprise these might have on them. Pull up a stool if you like. Or have a seat over there if you'd rather."

"Over here's fine." I pulled off my coat and sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs. There was a small-but-packed bookshelf next to it that I wanted to look at. I watched for a moment as she started pulling things out of drawers and putting things in beakers, then turned my attention to the shelf. I'd expected books on herbs or perhaps extreme Nevarran death cults. Instead the first big tome I saw was the special Omnibus edition of Varric Tethras' _Hard in Hightown (with Illustrated Book Plates in Full Colour!)_. Next to that was Varric's _Darktown's Deal_ , then Varric's _The Viper's Nest_ , Varric's _The Tale of the Champion_ \- I was sensing a pattern here - sure enough, Varric's _Swords and Shields_ series was next, followed by the collected _Tales of the Inquisition's Agents_ and last but not least, Varric's _All This Shit is Weird_ , his recounting of what happened during his time with the Inquisition. I suddenly felt vaguely uncomfortable, as I figured rather prominently in that book. "I see you're a fan of Varric's," I said.

She stopped what she was doing and spun around on her stool. "Oh damn. I forgot about that. Sera even told me you read everything."

"She told you that?"

"She seems to be simultaneously annoyed and amused by it. But yes, I like his writing. He has a way with words, and even his silliest fluff has a brain to it."

"I guess you know even more about me that you let on," I couldn't help saying, eyeing _All This Shit is Weird._

She laughed. "You mean _All This Shit_? Haven't you read it?"

"No. I haven't really wanted to. It seems…I don't know. Weird." I couldn't think how to put into words my discomfort with reading the book. I just knew I didn't particularly want to even though I'd encouraged him to go ahead and write it.

She gave me an unreadable look and a slight nod, as if she was checking something off a list, then smiled. "Well I wouldn't worry - you come off as quite heroic in it."

I made a face. 

"You don't want to appear heroic?" She sounded amused.

"Let's just say I haven't completely recovered from the whole 'Herald of Andraste' nonsense," I said a bit crossly.

"Well, Kai, let me reassure you: Varric doesn't put a great deal of personal information about anyone in the book. Just enough to make the reader feel like you're _people_ without revealing too much about you. He focuses much more on what you all _did_ , and even more on his perspective on it. Maker knows you did enough that he didn't need to pad it with salacious gossip." 

"He does embellish, you know," I said.

"I'm well aware of that," she replied. "It's one of the things I find delightful about him and it's also why I don't consider any of the information about you or any of the others in the book to be the gospel truth. So there's no need to sulk."

"I'm not," I retorted.

She just said, “Mm,” and turned back to the table. I sat there not sulking. Then she said, “So is it true that your advisors caught you orally pleasuring Dorian on the war table?”

“WHAT?”

She laughed merrily. “Oh, you made that so easy. Relax, there’s nothing of the sort in the book.” She turned to look at me and started laughing again. “Oh dear, no one mentioned it’s possible to make you blush, though that fair skin does put you at a disadvantage.”

“Yes, well, very funny,” I mumbled. I’d reacted that strongly because there _had_ been one night on the war table. After some drinks. Very late at night. It was earlier on when there weren’t so many pointy things stuck in the map. I remember many stupid jokes being made about fucking over the whole of Thedas. But as far as I know, _no one ever knew about that_ except me and Dorian, so I experienced a moment of panic that not only had someone known, but they’d told Varric who _of course_ put a version of it in his book.

I leafed through a few pages of one of the few non-Varric books on the shelf ( _A Disposable Walking Tour of the Capitol_ by Philliam!, a Bard) and tried to think of anything but the war table. It wasn’t easy. Eventually I slid into a kind of half-doze, as Mikal was intent on whatever she was doing and Philliam!'s walking tour wasn't all that riveting. 

I woke with a start when Mikal exclaimed, "Ha! Why you vicious little bastard. Kai, come here; I've got it."

I joined her at the worktable. One of the darts, looking quite a bit worse for the wear, was sitting at the bottom of a beaker of muddy blue liquid and Mikal was staring at it with distaste. "I can tell you unequivocally that whoever this is has a serious hate on for you," she said.

"The darts are poisoned then?"

"Oh yes."

"Lethal?"

"Oh, no. Much nastier than that," she said grimly. "Whoever this is knows their poisons. This is Crow-level stuff. As are the darts, unsurprisingly." She gave me a tight smile. "Fortunately, however much they know about poisons, I know more."

"So what's nastier than lethal? Or should I be asking if an Antivan Crow is trying to kill me?" 

"It's Crow- _level_ , but if it's a Crow they're doing it off the clock; this sort of nonsense isn't their style. Now, one thing at a time. Make me that light again, would you?"

"Anywhere in particular?"

"Just above us. Lovely. Now — it's your left arm that's fake, right?"

I nodded a bit trepidatiously.

"I just want to demonstrate, if you wouldn't mind pulling up your sleeve and setting it under the light here. My, that's quite the illusion you've got on it; looks real. How do you keep it up?"

"Runed," I said shortly. "Unfortunately it doesn't quite live up to its look."

"Well, it will work well for this." She pulled on a mesh glove and picked up one of the darts, then jammed the dart hard into the prosthesis. Even though we both knew it was fake, we both flinched a bit. She picked up the magnifying glass and said, "Now, look at this evil little son of a bitch. You already saw it's scaled, but that isn't just to make it painful and damaging to pull out. The scaling also creates more surface area and lovely little concentric pockets to deliver poison. Not to mention, _as_ you're trying to pull it out, it's cutting into you and delivering more of its poison into your system. With the stuff these have been coated with, your own blood actually returns the poison to its liquid state."

She handed me the magnifying glass. Someone had spent a great deal of time making the tiny circles of hinged scales. In the bottom of each ring I could see the residue of whatever they'd been dipped in. "So what does this shite do if it's not lethal?" I asked.

"It's a cruel one." She pulled the dart out of my arm and dropped it into a small metal box. "The poison attacks your joints. Eats away at them almost exactly like rheumatism, which you eventually end up developing. At best you spend the rest of your life in chronic pain, and as it worsens it affects your mobility. Not a popular choice in poisons; normally the goal is to eliminate the victim, not just make them miserable."

"That… adds a whole new level to vindictive," I said. "Maker's fucking breath. _One_ of those bloody things could do all that?"

"I'm not sure how much damage one would do," she admitted. "I don't really care to test them to find out how many it would take. Again, this is _not_ a common poison. I'd love to know where they found it."

"What about the darts?"

"Unusual, but not unheard of. I'm still leaning towards Antiva as their point of origin, but they could just as easily come from Tevinter or even Orlais."

I pulled my sleeve back down and banished the light. "If this poison is so rare, how did you figure it out so quickly?"

"Trade secret," she replied. "Which is my way of saying the explanation is rather dull. I'm not the one doing it, if that thought was crossing your mind."

"Well, you'd say that to me even if you were," I pointed out with a smile. "Maybe something about me in Varric's book really pissed you off."

"Hm. I did think you were awfully soft on some of the people you passed judgment on," she said as she transferred the remaining few darts into the metal box. She poured the muddy blue liquid with the ruined dart and a few others that looked equally damaged into a thick metal bowl and said, "Be a dear and incinerate that for me, would you? I suppose this is both good and bad news for you — your assailant doesn't appear to want you dead, but they certainly want you to suffer."

"Lucky me." I cast a small but intense fire spell on the contents of the bowl. The liquid boiled away as the darts blackened then melted into a dirty sludge. "So now I have to worry that they also have access to obscure poisons. I mean, I'm not easy to get at, but it's always possible."

"Let me put some feelers out," Mikal said. "Unless they mixed it themselves, which is possible but unlikely, it's an odd enough request that whoever filled it is likely to remember. Even a few of the ingredients are unusual if we need to go that route. You know, in some ways the fact that they're as angry as they appear to be could work to your advantage. Angry people make mistakes."

"Unless they're the type of angry that's spent the last several years planning all this."

"Planners can be foiled; at least the type you're talking about. The longer they've fantasized about their plan, the more finely detailed it is, the greater the chance you can throw the whole thing into a cocked hat just by doing something they didn't expect." She gave me a mischievous grin. "And by buggering up their beautiful plan you make them more angry."

"And angry people make mistakes," I finished.

"Clever lad," she laughed. "Now, was there anything else you needed at the moment?"

I shook my head. "I'd say that was more than sufficient for one day. Thank you; Sera was certainly right about you."

She raised her eyebrows. "And what did our favourite Red Jenny say?"

"That you know practically everything about practically everything."

She chuckled. "Not true, but I'll take the compliment. As long as we're throwing those about, I've concluded her high opinion of you is equally accurate. Feel free to drop by even if you don't have any business to conduct. I may even be persuaded to provide coffee."

"I'd like that," I said. "So how much do I owe you?"

"Pshaw. This falls under Jenny business. You'll make it up to me in other ways. You have talents that are far more valuable than a set of deep pockets."

I nodded. "Just say the word; I'm at your disposal. But right now I think I'm about to be late for an appointment."

"Best be on your way then. Don't forget your hat and cape. Side door's just down the stairs and to your left."

I thanked her again, promised to come back soon and left through the side door.


	8. Carpentry, a Cat and the Perils of Fame

I'd lost track of time up in Mikal's attic and hoped I wasn't too late for my appointment to get my door measured. I was also supposed to meet Matze and had promised Swivet I'd bring him something to make up for leaving him at home. I didn't know if my nug would remember something like that, but why take the chance? I stopped at one of those shops that sells a bit of everything and ended up buying a small stuffed cat, maker knows why. It just looked cute, if badass mages like myself are allowed to have such sentiments. I also stopped at the bakery for another bag of Swivet's favourite cookies.

I reached my house and saw the apprentice, Kalley, standing outside, bouncing restively from foot to foot. I apologized for being late and dismissed my wards as we went inside. I showed Kalley the floorboards first. She looked at them doubtfully.

"Begging your pardon, but do you really want them replaced? I could just sand that out," she said. She didn't even blink at the word burned into them, and it dawned on me that there was a very good chance she couldn’t read.

"It was burned in with a chemical," I told her, not wanting to try and explain the magical attack. "I'm afraid if it's sanded out it will probably come right back. Better to replace them. If you open the shutters you can see which window it is that needs the new glass."

She nodded and crouched down to start measuring. I turned and saw Swivet peering at us from the far side of the couch. He gets oddly shy around people at times. I went over to him and knelt down. He trilled hello and looked at me hopefully.

"Don't worry, I didn't forget to bring you something," I assured him. First I gave him a cookie which disappeared in two enthusiastic gulps. Then I pulled out the small stuffed cat and set it in front of him. He sniffed it and looked at me with a questioning squeak.

"It's a toy," I told him. "Like your ball. But softer." I patted it to demonstrate. He gave me another look then, to my surprise, reached out with one hand-like paw and imitated me, patting the toy softly on the head. He gave me another interrogatory squeak.

"That's right," I smiled at him. "It's yours." He made what sounded like a thoughtful clicking trill, glanced up behind me, took his new toy in one paw and dashed three-legged into the back hall. I stood up to find Kalley a short distance behind me.

"I'm done the measuring," she said. "You said there's a door?"

"The front door," I answered, crossing the living room to open it.

She looked it up and down. "Your pardon, Messere, but I don't see no problem with it."

"It's on the front."

We stepped outside and she shrugged. "Still don't see no problem."

I finally realized, "Oh. Sorry - here," and dismissed the illusion spell.

Her eyes widened and beneath her complexion — so close in color to Dorian's it made me vaguely wistful — her face went pale with fear. Damn. I often forget that many people are terrified of mages. "Don't worry," I hastily tried to reassure her, "it's just a little charm to cover up the mess. It's not dangerous at all."

"Yes, Messere." She sounded utterly unconvinced and didn't move; just kept staring at me like I was going to turn into an abomination any second.

"Look, if it'll help I'll just go back inside. You can make your measurements and leave. But you're just as safe as you were five minutes ago."

She nodded and _yes Messere_ 'd again, but I doubted anything would convince her that she was perfectly safe. I tried one last time. "Kalley, if you're that uncomfortable, I'll just make other arrangements with your carpentry master."

She shook her head emphatically. "There's no need, Messere. I'll do it and I'll do it good."

"All right, thank you." I sighed and went inside. More than likely her master wouldn't take kindly to her losing him money out of fear. She'd also 'do it good' out of fear. The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth. I heard the door close behind me as she did her measuring and presumably fled.

I pulled my coat off, tossed it on a chair and threw myself on the couch feeling out of sorts. Some asshole mage out there wanted me to suffer and I hadn't the slightest idea why. I, on the other hand, am _not_ an asshole, but get treated like some kind of dangerous freak for no reason. It made me want a drink _which I do too much of when I get depressed._ "SHIT," I stated out loud.

Accompanied by a light clatter of nails, Swivet emerged from the back hallway and came up to me with a squeak. I looked down and saw he was still holding his stuffed cat in one paw. "Well, at least _you_ like me," I said. Swivet trilled agreeably, set his cat down and gave it an experimental bap that sent it a few inches across the floor. He was soon playing happily with it, and I was content to watch him until Matze showed up.

It wasn’t long after that he did, with Sera in tow. Once she’d greeted Swivet and sufficiently admired his new toy, we got down to business.

“Whoever your enemy is, they’ve been busy,” Matze began.

“You found out something?” I asked as I pulled off the long-sleeved shirt and unstrapped the arm. Thing gets uncomfortable at times and there was no one I needed to keep up appearances for.

“I have no idea,” he confessed. “I was hoping you and Sera would have a better idea what might be pertinent.”

I nodded. “Well, before you start, I found a few things out myself. I went to see Mikal at the _Hightown Emporium —_ you’re right, Sera, she’s wonderful — and found out all sorts of things about the darts that were delivered with last night’s package.”

“Can I see them?” Sera asked. I handed her the metal tin with a stern admonishment not to touch them under any circumstances, then told them both what Mikal had told me.

“Bloody, sodding, nug-fucking shite _wanker_ ,” was her judgment when I’d finished. “That’s… UGH.” She closed the tin and handed it back to me.

“Disturbing,” was Matze’s somewhat less colorful conclusion. “I had no idea such a poison existed.”

“Mikal said it’s rare,” I reiterated, “which may help her track down whoever bought or made it. Needless to say, I find the implications unsettling. I still have no idea what I’ve supposedly done.”

“Well, I can tell you what I found out today. Perhaps there’s something you can use,” Matze said. “First: Your adversary did make the rounds in your neighborhood. Unfortunately, they didn’t slip once when it came to ensuring no one had a physical description of them.”

“Of course not,” I sighed.

“Second:” he continued, “They asked virtually the same questions at every place: where you live, how often do you come in, what do you buy, who your friends are, that sort of thing. Their excuses varied depending on the place. Usually some version of _they’re an old friend who wants to surprise you_ or _they want to hire you but one can’t be too safe these days_.”

“Wait — who my friends are? I don’t like the sound of that,” I said.

“I’d like to see them try,” Sera said darkly.

“They’re probably trying to see if you have an established pattern,” Matze said.

“The better to ambush me with?” I speculated.

“How many gormless fools blabbed?” Sera asked.

Matze smiled. “Practically none. The ones who know you better seem to like you and the ones who don’t know you have no idea what your patterns are. Not to mention nearly all of them didn’t trust some stranger coming around asking questions one bit.” 

“Three cheers for Free Marches insularity,” I said.

“In case you’re interested, the majority of the places you frequent think of you as _the bald guy who wears black_ ; they know you by name at the stables, the pub and the bookstore, but didn't tell your enemy they know you well; and the baker considers you _the one with the pretty eyes_.”

Sera snickered. “Ooh! She likes you!”

“If it’ll get me better baked goods, she’s free to admire my eyes as much as she likes,” I said placidly.

“If people only knew — the Herald Inquisitor, flaunting himself for pastry.” She _tsk_ ed.

“Apparently, aside from my eyes I have very little else to flaunt,” I said mournfully, “and you want me to stop?”

“Right, and now we’re supposed to reassure you you’re the absolute dog’s bollocks.” Sera grinned.

“It’d help, seeing as the only person who actually thinks that is in Tevinter,” I agreed.

“Well _I’m_ not the one to ask about good-looking men,” she said smugly.

“You do know you can identify whether someone’s good-looking even if you don’t want to bang them,” I countered.

“For the moment can we agree both that Kai has pretty eyes and pastry is worth flaunting for?” Matze interjected.

I smirked. “Well, I suppose unanimous agreement on my eyes is a start. To get back on topic, I notice you said _nearly_ and _practically_ everyone was smart enough not to tell them anything. Which means?”

“A slight betrayal in the form of an adolescent girl who works at the pub. She knows you used to be The Inquisitor and you _are_ a powerful mage and is rather awestruck by that wealth of celebrity. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

I had to think about it; I don’t normally pay a great deal of attention to adolescent girls. “Does she wait tables there?”

“Clean-up detail, more like,” Matze corrected. “She’s got dark hair? A little on the chubby side, but in a cute way?”

I shrugged. “Sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t recall talking to anyone like that.”

Sera rolled her eyes at me. “Andraste’s tits, Kai!” and to Matze, “When he’s not interested in something he can be thick as a bloody Qunari at a joke-telling contest.”

“You mean you know who he’s talking about?” I demanded.

“Maker, she only lurks about making cow eyes at you every time you’re there! Her name’s Miya, she’s fifteen and for some reason she thinks you’re just _aces_.” She made an exasperated noise.

“I still don’t remember talking to anyone like that,” I objected.

“That’s ‘cause she’s never got up the nerve to talk to you,” Sera said, enunciating every word like you do for someone who’s not very swift.

A picture finally flashed into my mind. “Wait — there’s one girl who scuttles up to the table like she’s going to be punched in the face every time she has to clean up. Always _stares_ as long as you don’t look at her. Is that who you mean?”

“That's her,” Sera confirmed.

“I thought she has some grudge against me because I’m a mage or something.”

“See — thick,” she said to Matze.

“It’s a perfectly reasonable conclusion,” I argued. “The carpenter’s apprentice took off like a scalded cat today because I made the mistake of lifting a little illusion spell in front of her.”

“It would be if she didn’t make cow eyes at you all the time that you never notice,” Sera said.

Now I made an exasperated noise. “Fine, I didn’t notice some silly girl gawking at me. That’s not something I'd want to encourage anyway.” I turned to Matze. “So what did this little charmer say?”

“I’m afraid that’s likely how they found out where you live.”

“She knows where I _live_?”

“She’s also read _This Shit is Weird_ six times. She was delighted to be able to talk about it. She thinks the Inquisition should never have been disbanded because then she could have joined when she was old enough. She loves the whole Inquisition, but especially you because you were, after all, the Inquisitor,” he said, looking as though he was fighting back a grin.

“So why isn’t she making cow eyes at Sera? Sera was in the Inquisition too,” I complained.

“Now you’re being thick on purpose,” Sera said.

“She must know I couldn’t possibly be interested in her,” I persisted.

“Andraste’s dirty knickers, weren’t you ever fifteen?” she demanded.

“I was in the Circle. Being watched by Templars. I didn’t _get_ to be fifteen and stupid. I was also a boy.”

“What, boys don’t ever get silly crushes on people?”

“Of course they do, but at fifteen you pretty much only think about having sex with them. ANYWAY,” I continued pointedly, “was there anything else she told the bastard besides my address?”

“Most of it was just parroting things from the book. What concerns me a bit is she did tell your enemy that Sera, Dagna and Ademar are friends of yours.”

“We can all take care of ourselves,” Sera said.

“Yes, but it does mean you should be on your guard and we need to let Ademar know that too,” I said. “The poison on those darts is no laughing matter. Anything else you can think of, Matze?”

“Hm. She knows your favourite beer, that you play Wicked Grace, and she’s pretty sure your hair’s actually black because once in a while she’s seen you when you’ve let it grow out a bit,” he said with girlish enthusiasm.

“For fucks sake,” I grumbled, “next you’ll be telling me she spied on me in the privy.”

“I’m sure the thought’s crossed her mind,” Sera said evilly.

“Fortunately, she was quite sure that was all she’d told your enemy,” Matze continued. “I impressed upon her the importance of not doing so again. She solemnly swore to me she wouldn’t say another word that wasn’t common knowledge ever again.”

“Well, I suppose it could have been worse.” I sighed. “Unfortunately, much as I appreciate the trouble you went to, we’re still left with a big handful of nothing when it comes to identifying this bastard.”

“Maybe that Mikal will have more luck with the poison angle,” Matze said.

“Yes, well, let’s hope they don’t either escalate or get lucky in the meantime…or go after any of you.”

There didn’t seem to be much else to say on the subject, so we chatted for a bit and watched Swivet play with his cat. Sera invited me over to their place, but this time I declined. I didn’t much feel like going anywhere or being social; she seemed to understand. When they left, I replaced and strengthened the wards on my doors and windows, fed Swivet, considered making something to eat and opened a beer instead. Perhaps it would come back to bite me in the ass, but at the moment I really didn’t care.


	9. Poison and Promises

“…I’m serious, amatus. Maybe you _should_ come back here. I don’t like the sound of that at all.”

I was talking to Dorian on the sending crystal and I’d just told him what we’d discovered about the darts.

“I mean, a poison that gives you joint disease?” he continued, “That’s Tevinter-level fiendish, yet I’ve never heard of it.”

“It definitely shows long-term planning,” I said. “But really, how would you know it’s not been used up there? Just because the wanker down here tried to administer it on something that’ll rip chunks out of you… if you wanted to be subtle about it it’d be easy. People get joint disease all time without any help from poisoners so no one’s going to be looking for it. They’d just talk about what a shame it is that the victim got the disease so young.”

“Because everyone assumes the goal is to _kill_ you with poison, not make you suffer for years on end. As I said, fiendish. And they’ve been asking about your routines? What’s to stop them from putting it in your food or drink next?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” I admitted, “Except they seem to be trying to make a statement along with it. Why not just do that in the first place and never let me know it was deliberate? They could hang about for years and watch me steadily get worse. Instead they’re expending a great deal of effort to let me know they’re unhappy with me and they must have known their chances of success with the darts were somewhere between slim and none. Mad as it sounds, it may have been a very elaborate attempt to scare me.”

“I still don’t like it,” Dorian insisted.

I finished the last bite of the sandwich I’d slapped together and opened another beer. Swivet was sleeping on the floor in front of the couch, his stuffed cat clutched in one paw; it looked impossibly cute. If Dorian had been in Hasmal rather than Minrathous, we could have been the picture of domestic bliss. “I’m not exactly thrilled either, you know,” I said. “Please tell me you’ll get some alchemist you trust to have a look at that poison when the dart gets to you. It’s a potential hazard to you as well.”

“Stop being so altruistic. You need to be telling me you will selfishly put saving your own skin above any other consideration.”

“I promise. I shall consider no one before myself,” I said solemnly. “And don’t worry; I’ll take extra precautions.”

“You sure you don’t want to come back? I can take you to the best parties; we can shock them all by bucking the latest fashion trends and eating the canapés _out of order_.”

“I’ve only been back a few days,” I laughed. “Seriously, I’d rather solve this quickly _before_ I go back if I can. I don’t need some spiteful motherfucker lying in wait for me every bloody time I come home and I _don’t_ want to waste time and energy having to worry about what they might do next.”

“I suppose I can’t blame you. But you must promise me you’ll contact me every night.”

“Don’t I do that anyway?” 

“Yes, but now I’m telling you to, not just assuming you will.”

“ _Telling_ me to, are you?” I said.

“Fine, then, I’m _asking_ you to so I don’t worry myself into premature grey. _Festis bei umo canavarum!”_

I snorted. “The death of you, my ass. Speaking of which-“

“Which what? My death or your ass? I must tell you, I’d much rather discuss the latter.”

“Then you're in luck. In fact, _your_ ass figures into this discussion as well."

"Well _this_ night is definitely taking a turn for the better. And how did both our asses come to loom so large in your consciousness aside from the obvious difficulties you must have not thinking of mine every waking moment?"

"It was during my little fact-finding mission," I said. "The woman I took the darts to today nearly gave me a heart attack: She brought up you, me and the war table in conjunction with Varric’s book…”

The conversation at that point veered into - shall we say - less public matters, so you’ll excuse me if I leave it at that.

**=#=**

The next day nothing happened. I got up slightly later than the day before. Kalley The Apprentice showed up with my floorboards, door and new window, still acting like she was walking into the jaws of death, so I took my nug to a park, where we both had a lovely time. I picked up my laundry, which was blamelessly clean and contained nothing poisonous, biting or even slightly dangerous. Later I had a few drinks at the pub with Ademar; the girl with the Inquisition obsession wasn’t working, so I didn’t even have to try not to notice her. Much later, I talked to Dorian then went to bed. To think — most people have entire lifetimes that go like that.


	10. A Box Full of Darkness

"Okay, now write something."

"Write what?"

"It doesn't matter. Just anything so the material can record what happens when you're writing."

"But I don't write with this hand like I did with my left. It does it completely differently." I was sitting at Dagna's worktable with some sort of apparatus I didn't pretend to understand strapped to my right arm. 

"It doesn't _matter_." Her normally sunny disposition seemed to be chipping a bit at the edges. "You just need to be thinking about writing."

"But I don't think the same about it with this hand. My left hand just _wrote_ ; this one makes me think about it the whole bloody time I'm writing."

"Then just write like you would with your left hand but with your right hand. It doesn't have to _be_ anything. _Pretend_ it's your left hand."

"Fine." I sighed, adding under my breath, "but it's not the same." I pretended to write like it was my left hand, but my brain wasn't fooled one bit. "You know, if I'm just pretending, why shouldn't I pretend to write with my left hand? My brain still remembers how; there's just no hand there anymore.  At times my mind _still_ thinks it's there."

Next to me, Dagna rubbed her temples like she was getting a headache. "That would be fine if I could attach something to your brain and record it, but we're stuck trying to get impressions from the one arm you have left."

We heard the front door thud open and shut and a moment later Sera came into the kitchen chortling. "You wouldn't believe what someone did to Lady Hemmingford!"

"Lady who?" I asked.

"Hemmingford. She's one of the ponciest-of-poncey twats of all the highborn nobs around here. _Loves_ swanning about lording it over everyone. We get Jenny requests about her all the time, but she's got more security than the treasure room at the Grand Cathedral."

"So who got to her and what did they do?"

"I dunno who but it wasn't any of us. So one of the things the old bat cares most about is her gardens, yeah? She's won piles of big shiny awards for them in some contest where they all look at each other's shrubberies every year." She climbed up on a stool and continued, "Well, _some_ how someone got into her gardens last night and snipped the top off _every_. _Single_. Red flower. They were found all piled up in one of her shitters." She laughed again.

"Why all the red ones?" I wondered aloud.

Sera shrugged. "Why not? It's _funny_ , Harold *****."

"Won't she just blame her servants?" I asked.

"Can't." Sera shook her head emphatically. "She doesn't let any of 'em stay the night in that bloody great house of hers except her cook and her lady-in-waiting, and they're both like a thousand years old and fat. And before you ask, she doesn't have _people_ security except outside the walls. Her grounds are all set with magic traps she paid some mage to set up and only she knows how to shut them off."

“It’s like one of those locked-room mysteries,” Dagna said happily, “Except outside.”

I smiled. “I’m sorry, Sera. It is funny. I guess I’m just a bit paranoid right now, especially after nothing happened yesterday.”

“That’s what they _want_ , Kai,” Sera said earnestly. “You can’t let them be punching down on you. We’re here to help you, remember?”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” I replied. “I thought we did some sort of run on Lady Hemmingford.”

“Nah, that was Lord _Walling_ ford,” she said. “You remember — the one with all the ratty little dogs?”

“Oh, those. Ghastly things. Why people think vicious _small_ dogs are cute is beyond me.”

“Um- Kai,” Dagna interjected, “we need to finish this before you go focusing on other things. Please?”

“Of course. Sorry, Dagna. Are we done with the writing?”

“For now.” For some reason she looked worried. “Now I need you to shave. Well, pretend to shave. If you need something razorey I can find something for you.”

I nodded. “You’ll be relieved to know that was always something I could do equally well with either hand, so I won’t be complaining about how different it is.”

I really thought the _level_ of relief she showed was a bit much.

* * *

***** “Harold” was originally Herald Inquisitor, one of the nicknames Sera bestowed on me back in the Inquisition days, which was in turn a shortening of the ridiculous ‘Herald of Andraste’ appellation people originally gave me and Inquisitor, my eventual job title. That turned into Inquisitor Herald, and then Inquisitor Harold. After a night where we spent a silly amount of time imagining what sort of person Inquisitor Harold would have been, Harold was born. Sera reserves it for when she thinks I’m being particularly humorless or literal-minded.

* * *

On the way home I stopped off at the stables to check on my horse and see if anyone had expressed interest in a Tevinter run. One of the daughters was there (I have to confess, for some reason no matter how many times I hear their names, I forget them again within moments); she greeted me with a wave. "Kai! Big day today — you got a raven and a courier brought a package."

I told her I'd get the package on my way out and went up to the loft. The new bird was one of the Orlais ravens. I removed the message capsule and opened it. The message was short and cryptic: _Must meet with you. Private. -C._ This was followed by a date five days away and directions to a place about two days out of Hasmal. 'C' was Cassandra, but why she'd need to sneak out of Orlais and meet me in private I couldn't imagine. As Divine Victoria she could command anyone to do anything she liked, including her Left Hand: her own personal spies and assassins. _Oh well_ , I thought with a mental shrug, _guess I'll find out in five days._ I dashed off a quick acknowledgement and attached it to another Orlais-Cassandra bird, sending it on its way immediately.

I trotted back downstairs and found the daughter ( _Rosa? Rona?_ ), letting her know I'd need my horse ready for a short journey in three days and collecting the package. I studied it as I walked home; everything about the thing raised alarm bells in my mind. It was about the size of a loaf of bread, wrapped in sturdy, non-descript paper. It had my name and Hasmal written on it, but nothing indicating it should have been delivered to that particular stables. There was also nothing indicating who or where it might have come from, and it didn't look as beaten up as packages that have traveled long distances tend to. Finally I changed directions, heading back to the northwest district. It would be bloody stupid to take the thing home to open.

Fortunately, the _Hightown Emporium_ was still open when I got there. In fact, it was doing brisk business. I hovered partway between the doorway and the counter until Mikal noticed me, then wandered over to a section of the shop that had mostly books, looking through them until she was available. Most of them were fluff; the sorts of things dabblers in alchemy buy thinking it'll make them look clever. At least she'd been smart enough to stick to books whose recipes and "spells" were largely idiot-proof and harmless. I wondered if she had a section of _real_ tomes and if she'd let me see them.

A short time later I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find Mikal grinning at me. "Maker's breath, you really _will_ read anything if you're reading that tripe."

"And here I was mentally congratulating you on ensuring your books are all safe for the rubes," I said.

"He's perceptive too," she chuckled. "I take it this isn't a social visit?"

"Unfortunately, no. How did you know?"

"Because you seem like the type who'd feel more comfortable scheduling one than just dropping in."

"Well aren't we both terribly perceptive today," I said with a half-smile. "I'm afraid this is another back room sort of visit if you're able to spare the time."

"Ooh, I'm intrigued," she said, eyes sparkling. "I'll be closing in twenty minutes; can you wait?"

I nodded. "There's a new coffee house on the next street. I'll go have one and come back." It gave me an excuse to check the place out (it was overpriced and I don't think their coffee was actually Antivan).

Once Mikal locked up, we retraced the route to her attic workroom. "Chilly tonight," she remarked and gestured towards the fireplace. "Do you mind?" I lit it with a small fire spell and she sighed happily. "I should have married a mage. Damn the Chantry for keeping you all locked up for so long."

"You're married?" I asked, having seen no evidence of that.

"Not anymore, love. Now what brings you here?"

I shrugged out of my coat and showed her the package. "This showed up at the stables where I keep my horse today. I was not expecting a package. I don't recognize the writing and too many things about it don't add up. Perhaps I'm being presumptuous, but I was hoping you'd have a set-up so this thing could be opened safely in case it's another attack."

"Not presumptuous at all," she said as she took the box from me and studied it, "Smart. Whoever this nug-fucker is, they know something about some nasty hardware."

I blinked at her. "And to think my first impression of you was 'motherly'."

"There are many different types of mothers, my dear," she chuckled. "Now pull up a stool and let's see what they expected you to blindly open."

She set the package on a worktable, put her mesh gloves on and cut away the outer wrapping with a small, sharp knife. We were now looking at a box made of cheap pressed wood. Someone had painted childish pictures on it: a castle, a rainbow, a stick-figure family. "Does any of this make the faintest bit of sense to you?" Mikal asked, frowning.

I shook my head. "Not one bit. I don't have a child and I'm not likely to sire one. I don't even know any small children. If they're trying to say something, I'm not getting the message."

She turned the box around. More paintings: flowers, and on the back a far more skillfully rendered picture of a storm cloud with bolts of lightning coming out of it. The lightning bolts were each hitting a member of the stick figure family, who were exploding bloodily.

"Well, there's my message," I said. "I still don't understand it, but it's more in keeping with whatever this bastard's got up his ass."

Mikal bent closer to inspect something and said, "Hunh."

"What?"

She carefully pushed the box closer to me. "Smell."

I bent a bit closer and sniffed it. "Chocolate? What am I, eight?"

"Perhaps they're trying to confuse you?"

"If I was home right now they would have confused me into incinerating it."

"We'll have to check that too after it's been opened. Wait here a moment." she stood up and left the room; I could hear her pounding down the stairs. I tried to make sense of the last painting, but couldn't. I've killed a lot of people, but only in the context of battle, and the majority of them were doing their level best to kill me at the time. I've never gone about murdering families as the picture seemed to suggest. Since the Inquisition ended, the only deaths I've been responsible for have been the occasional bandit and one particularly vicious group of slavers on my Tevinter runs. This whole thing was really starting to piss me off.

Mikal came back saying, "I don't want to haul the things we need up here; we'll have to take it downstairs." She picked up her mesh gloves and a few other odds and ends; I got to carry the box. As we went downstairs, she said, "I cleared a spot; you'll just need to move a few things."

The few things turned out to be a metal horse trough I dragged to the center of the cleared spot and a large aquarium she instructed me to set inside it. "Won't that just shatter if the bloody thing blows?" I asked.

"Hopefully not," she replied. "I had a mage friend strengthen the glass a long time ago. So far it's withstood all abuse thrown at it. Just set the box inside it."

I did as she instructed.

"Now," she said briskly, "can you pop those latches magically or do we need to do it manually?"

I crouched down and probed at the two latches on the front of the box. "I can do it."

"While giving us some better light and keeping a barrier over the top of the tank?"

I gave her a withering look. "Please. I've been doing this for twenty-five years. I think I can handle it."

She chuckled. "Not trying to offend, Kai. Not all mages are equally good at close-up work as they are at the big, flashy stuff. Takes a different sort of concentration from what I've been told."

Now I felt stupid; she was trying to help me, after all. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Professional pride's a good thing as long as you can back it up. Are you ready?"

I nodded and started casting. First, the light: an even, bright white the way she'd liked it the other day. This time I illuminated the entire open area we were standing in. Next, the barrier spells: not just over top of the tank, but on Mikal and me as well, and one more encompassing the open area. Since my enemy was a mage of unknown skill, I didn't want to take any chances. Finally, the latches: I carefully reached out with mind, will and magic. The latches were the sort that you pressed in then slid to the side. I _pushed_ both simultaneously until we heard the soft _click_ s and slid them. The lid popped open in a flash of magenta light, accompanied by a happy squeak. I kept the barriers firmly up and we waited. Nothing more emanated from the box.

Mikal looked at me. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” I agreed. We approached the horse trough and looked down into the tank. The box lid was open invitingly. At the very top were two pieces of what looked like fine chocolate. All I could tell about what was underneath them was it seemed to be wrapped in colorful paper. “Chocolate,” I said helpfully.

“They have different pictures imprinted on them,” Mikal said. She was right. One had a crown, the other something that vaguely resembled elfroot. “Could mean something.”

“Or this whole thing is just to yank me around and make me _think_ it’s another attack.”

“You wanna bet your life or continued health on that?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Well then,” she smiled grimly, “tell me this: can you keep that barrier spell going indefinitely?”

I shook my head. “No, they all decay. I can refresh, but there would be occasional gaps. And I’d have to keep refreshing frequently enough that it’s not feasible. Sooner or later I’d have to sleep.”

“Then we’re going to have to make some assumptions. Can I put something through the barrier without disrupting it completely?”

“If it’s small enough, I can modify the spell, yes,” I replied.

“While it and your other spells are still running?” she asked.

“Uh huh.”

She gave a short bark of laughter. “Damn, you _are_ good. Right, then.” She walked across the open space to a pile of stuff and pulled out a rapier. “Sufficiently slender?”

“Yes. What are you planning on doing? Poking holes in it?”

“Not yet,” she grinned. “Can you let it through now?”

I did. It was a matter of telling the barrier to allow the sword in and move with it while remaining intact around it. A little tricky, but I had every reason to ensure it kept working correctly. Mikal was doing her part by keeping the rapier as still as possible as she brought it down to the top of the open box and carefully flipped both pieces of chocolate off onto the floor of the tank. She slid the sword back outside the barrier spell and we waited again.

Nothing happened.

Mikal nodded. “Figured as much. They _want_ you — or somebody — to eat the chocolate.”

“Though whatever’s underneath could’ve blown up in my face when I picked the chocolate up.”

“Exactly. Now we know it didn’t. Let’s see what it is.”

“I’m keeping the barrier up,” I told her.

“If you didn’t I’d smack you upside the head,” she said pleasantly.

We approached the tank again. Mikal eased the rapier back in through my barrier spell. The chocolate had been resting on what appeared to be a piece of stiff paper coloured robin’s egg blue. She tried to catch the edge of it with the rapier tip, but was having a bit of trouble as the paper was fitted into the box. “Damn,” she murmured, "what I need is a set of tweezers at the end of this.”

“Want me to help?” I offered.

“You just keep those barriers up, boyo. Ha!” she managed to stab through a corner of the paper and carefully lever it up and out of the box. Underneath was a small, iced cake. Written in more icing on top was one word: TRAITOR.

“My, my, you weren’t kidding,” Mikal said. She poked at the cake with the rapier tip. Nothing happened.

“Give it a few minutes,” I said. “And take the sword out. I’m getting a strange feeling off that thing.” I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, just that there was something magical associated with it. It was creepy.

We waited a few minutes. It continued to sit there being creepy. “Fuck this; bloody thing's making my skin crawl. I’m going to try something,” I told her. “It’s dangerous, but I’m guessing it’s what the thing’s waiting for. You might want to go back upstairs.”

“And miss the finale? Not on your life,” she replied. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to drop the barriers. I’ll leave the one around you intact, but dismiss the others. If our mage is worth his staff, that’s what it’ll be primed to wait for. Then it’s just a matter of slapping them up again quickly enough to contain whatever the surprise is.” 

“Are you sure you’re quick enough?”

“Yes.”

“Incidentally, why don’t you have one?” she asked.

“Huh? One what?”

“A staff. I thought every mage needed one.”

I smiled sideways at her. “Well, for one thing, we don’t actually _need_ one; they just work as a focus, which in turn can help boost a spell’s power. If you take a mage’s staff away, she can still throw a fireball in your face. And second, I do. Right here.” I raised my left arm. “Underneath the illusion it’s just a glorified hunk of wood with a couple of simple joints, but it’s also been carved and enchanted just like any other staff. It doesn’t provide as fine a focus as a dedicated staff, but it works.”

“Well how about that,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s one I’ve never seen before. Must be useful when you don’t want people to know you’re a mage.”

“Very,” I agreed. “Not everyone has your enlightened attitude towards us. Shall we get this over with?”

“Oh- sorry. You’re still holding all those barriers while I stand here asking you questions you could have answered later. Do you need some lyrium?”

“No, thank you.” _Come to think of it, I hadn’t needed to use lyrium since the Anchor embedded itself in my hand all those years ago. Even losing the arm hadn’t changed that. I was going to have to think more about that later._ “If you’re ready, I’m going to drop them.”

Mikal nodded. “Do it.”

I dropped all the barriers but hers and got ready to throw them up again. It didn’t take long. I felt a surge of power from the direction of the box and heard an insectile scream as _something_ came boiling up out of it. I cursed and threw those spells up as hard and fast as I could. I could actually _feel_ scores of something battering away at the barrier over the tank. We heard a harsh, unpleasant buzzing and clattering coming from it.

“What the bloody blue fuck is that?!” Mikal said.

“Want to take a look?” I asked, “I’ve got the barrier locked in now.”

"You'd better, boyo." She pulled her mesh gloves on. I didn't blame her; even thought with a stab of remorse about my coat sitting upstairs on her couch.

We approached the tank cautiously. Swirling angrily within it and beating themselves against my barrier was a swarm of the most hideous-looking insects I’ve ever seen. They were a mottled gangrene-black and corpse-grey, with four large, translucent, veined wings. Their bodies looked spongy, as though they’d explode if they actually collided with anything. Most of the rest of them seemed to be comprised of two ugly chelae at the front and a vicious-looking barbed stinger at the back. Their legs were long and wispy and looked completely incapable of holding them up. As they couldn’t escape the tank, many of them had turned to attacking each other.

“Maker’s breath,” Mikal said, “those have got to be the ugliest damn things I’ve ever seen. Do NOT let that barrier spell lapse.”

“I may never sleep again,” I assured her. We stood watching in horrified fascination. I hadn’t noticed at first — and wished I’d continued to not notice — but the things actually had what looked like faces. Some ghastly trick of nature — or more likely whatever sick-ass mage constructed the things — had seen fit to configure their heads so they looked like nothing so much as a screaming old man with a long proboscis attached where the nose would be. The noise all those wings made was the stuff of nightmares; a raspy, droning clatter that seemed designed to claw at your nerve endings.

“What’re we going to do?” Mikal asked quietly, “You can’t stand here forever.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever; just until they all kill one another.”

“I hope you’re joking.”

“I can incinerate them,” I told her, “but in order to I’d need to drop the barrier spell. It would only be a matter of a second or two, but do _you_ want to take the chance on even a few of those things escaping?”

“Yech. One is one too many. What if we got a second mage?”

“What — to expand the barrier but keep them contained while I incinerate them?”

“You catch on fast,” she said.

“You know any that you _know_ are good enough?”

She sighed. “No. I get amateurs in here all the time, but the real thing? Oddly enough they don’t care to give me their credentials.”

“The closest mage _I’d_ trust with this lives in Minrathous.” _And damn, did I ever wish he was here right then._

“… Damn,” she said.

“Yeah.”

Abruptly I felt another surge of power and, with another buzzing shriek, every last one of the ghastly things exploded in a burst of black powder and disappeared. In another moment the black powder was gone too. We were left staring at an empty box and two squares of chocolate. “Looks like they didn’t want to leave any evidence,” I said.

“Or didn’t want to leave any way for anyone to find out what sort of venom those things injected into you,” Mikal said grimly.

“Or that,” I agreed, feeling a bit sick to my stomach. “Think I should drop the barriers now?”

“My mind says yes, they’re clearly gone. Wish I could convince the rest of me they are.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing.” I dismissed the spells and nothing was exactly what happened.

“Whew,” Mikal said, “Were those things really real?”

“Constructs, I'd say. Think about it — they looked like flying bags of gangrenous pus and they were smashing into the walls of the tank and attacking each other. The whole tank should be dripping with- well, dripping. But I guarantee they were real enough to transmit whatever ghastly poison that bastard was trying to hit me with.”

Mikal shook her head slowly. “Kai, whoever made those things has a serious case of crazy. Have you considered leaving town for a bit?”

“I was just gone for over a month. This is what I came back to. I need them neutralized _now_.”

“What about extra protection?”

I laughed, “You mean hire a bodyguard?”

“Is that so far-fetched?” She removed her gloves, walked over to the gear she’d brought and pulled out a metal box and a pair of tweezers, explaining, “I still want to test that chocolate.”

“ _I’m_ more dangerous than most bodyguards I could hire,” I said, “and what are they supposed to guard me against? This mage sets booby traps and chucks things through windows. Am I supposed to ask the bodyguard to throw themselves on anything suspicious?” I let go of the light spell and everything suddenly seemed very gloomy.

Mikal laughed. “Sorry, I was just picturing that. I know it's no laughing matter. It’s only been a few days and they’ve already escalated exponentially.” She closed the metal box and led the way back upstairs. “What are they going to try next? Killer golems? Animated corpses with poisoned claws?” She set the metal box on a worktable and dropped into an overstuffed chair. The fire was still crackling merrily and I realized with some surprise that probably less than an hour had passed.

“Pardon my Orlesian, but I’m hoping they’ve shot their wad for the time being,” I replied, taking the chair across from her. “That was fucking elaborate. You do not arrange something like that in an evening.”

“I hope you’re right,” she sighed. “I’m going to get on my contacts about the poison from the last one; this situation cannot be allowed to go on.”

“Thanks,” I said, “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Nonsense,” she chuckled. “This is the most interesting few days I’ve had in quite a while. The offer still stands for you to come by when you’re _not_ being attacked by mysterious madmen, you know.”

“And I’d still like that.” I levered myself out of the chair and pulled on my coat. “But for the moment I’d better go. I’ve a nug at home that’s been left alone all day.”

“Go.” She waved a hand towards the door. “Relax. You’ve earned it. I hope you’re right that your enemy will need some time to regroup. You need _anything,_ you feel free to drop by. You don’t need to make an appointment.”

I thanked her again and headed for home. I felt tired and beat up, but weirdly energized at the same time. It was a feeling I remembered from the Inquisition days, and it was unpleasantly pleasant. Or perhaps vice versa. I’m not sure what that says about me.


	11. Reflections

I stopped briefly at the pub to buy extra beer, but didn't feel like staying around to socialize. I still had the pictures and sounds of those nightmare insects in my mind; it was interfering with my ability to make small talk. In case I forgot to mention it, I really hate bugs; especially oversized ones. I got home to find my wards untouched. I admit I took a good long look around before dropping them just in case my enemy was watching, but as far as I could tell no one nearby gave a damn what I was doing. Nevertheless, I slapped the wards back up as soon as I shut my nice, new door. 

Swivet ran up to me with an excited trill that made me feel marginally better. I fussed over him a bit and gave him his dinner before opening a beer and unstrapping the arm. _Relax,_ Mikal had said, but I was finding it difficult. I had a surfeit of nervous energy running through me and nothing to expend it on. If Dorian had been around there wouldn't be a problem, but he was in Minrathous and there wasn't anyone else I was in the mood to talk to, not even Sera. 

Rather than pace around the house, I finally dug a key out of my kitchen drawer and went down the hall to the back room. I entered (Swivet at my heels) and fired up my lights with a thought. This was destined to be an exercise in frustration too, but at least it was something to do. The room was virtually empty, holding only a chair, a desk and a very large mirror. As it 'sensed' my presence, the mirror's surface brightened, a suggestion of light and color moving like oil just below its surface. Of course, it wasn't a simple mirror. It was a fully functioning eluvian.*

* * *

***** For those who may not know what an eluvian is, I'm going to be lazy and crib from the piece I wrote about the last days of the Inquisition: _They look like mirrors, but they’re much more. The ancient elves used them as a means to travel vast distances. To do this, you first have to either find one that’s already active, or have the key to activate one. Then you just… step through. The eluvians take you to an in-between place called the Crossroads. Once there, assuming you know where you’re going, you simply walk to the eluvian that’s keyed to the place you want to go and walk through that one._

* * *

The eluvians had been a project of mine and Dorian's for a good year now. Using our own knowledge plus diagrams and documents seized from the Qunari and the occasional advice of other mages and artisans, we'd managed to restore and activate two of them; Dorian had the twin to mine in his place in Minrathous. We had them properly keyed, which is why the thing woke up when I walked into the room. And frustratingly, we couldn't use them. The one thing we hadn't counted on was the in-between-world called the Crossroads that connected all the eluvians. We couldn’t use the Crossroads proper because Solas — or Fen'Harel, if you prefer ***** — had seized control of the eluvians and the Crossroads along with them. 

* * *

***** A full explanation of the Solas/Fen'Harel situation would take far too long. The short version is:  Solas was a former ally who turned out to be the ancient elven god Fen'Harel (and yes I know how outlandish that sounds). Eons ago, he created the Veil that separates our world and the Fade and somewhat inadvertently destroyed his peoples' entire civilization. Then he went to sleep, and lucky us, he woke up a few years ago and decided he wasn't happy with how it all turned out so he wants a do-over. In order to put everything back the way it was when _he_ liked it, he plans to destroy our world. And we're supposed to be okay with that because he feels a _tiny_ bit bad about it. So during this whole time I'm writing about, that was going on in the background, since obviously we weren't about to just _let_ him do that. But most of it was out of my hands and we all still had lives to live even though the mad old bastard was planning to end everything shortly. 

* * *

We could have had the eluvians connect to the Crossroads — it certainly would have been easier — but we didn't dare. There was just too much chance that the moment we crossed through, Fen'Harel or his people would know and be all over us. He might not kill us, since he sees himself as such a good sort, but you can bet he'd seize control of our eluvians.

We'd also quickly discovered that constructing our own version of the Crossroads wasn't an option. The between-world had been set up millennia ago by who knows how many elven mages and we simply didn't have the knowledge and power to do it. For all I know the Crossroads had always been there and they'd just figured out how to access it and mold it into their image.

The solution we'd come up with was rather clever, at least in our opinion. We'd managed to key the eluvians to open on _just the other side_ of the Crossroads. That is, if you thought of the Crossroads as a series of branching hallways, we'd be the rodents creeping about on the roof and in the walls. We could access some of the ambient energy of the Crossroads without being directly connected with it. In theory, that would make it possible to use them without attracting the notice of Fen'Harel and his people.

Our problem now was, other than the surety that we'd managed to key them correctly, we had a whole lot of theory and very little practical knowledge. We didn't even know if you could survive creeping across the outer skin of the Crossroads, let alone do it with no one noticing. Neither one of us was prepared to just walk through and find out quite yet. We'd tried probing the space magically with virtually no success, and tossing things through the eluvians had only proved you could toss things through them. Now seemed as good a time as any to try my newest idea.

When I was in Tevinter last, I'd gone down to the Minrathous waterfront and purchased a fine mariner's spyglass. I pulled this out of my desk drawer now, opened it and stepped up to the eluvian. As Swivet watched me curiously, I put the front half of the spyglass through the mirror and looked through the eyepiece. I saw…grey. Or course, I had no idea if there was anything nearby to focus on. The Crossroads themselves looked dull and grey, unless you were an elf. I tried aiming down, hoping to at least catch sight of something we'd tossed through. More grey. I realized I'd removed the arm prematurely, as I couldn't hold the spyglass and focus it at the same time, so I set the glass down and went out to reattach it.

My second attempt met with a small degree of success. With the glass gripped firmly by my left 'hand', I was free to focus with my right. The monotone grey took on shades. There was a suggestion of terrain in that greys became darker in spots, and a faint suggestion of shapes farther away. Once I could swear I saw a glint that I fancied could be Dorian's eluvian, but I had to admit that was probably wishful thinking. Eventually all that grey began to give me a slight headache and I had to stop. 

Why didn't I just walk through and find out for myself? Because if we'd fucked up, there was always the chance that I wouldn't be able to get back through the eluvian. Or the place could be airless or deadly cold or poisonous. It could be that distances on the outside of the Crossroads were greater and the distance between my eluvian and Dorian's would take longer than the overland trip already did. Now added to that, my mind insisted on painting pictures of swarms of those ghastly insects from the package hiding just out of sight, poised to swarm and feed on anyone stupid enough to enter their natural habitat. With a sigh I collapsed the glass and left the room, taking care to re-lock it behind me. I didn't want anyone knowing the eluvian was there, much less take the chance of someone blundering through the thing. I’d even taken the precaution of keying it so I had to be present for anyone to cross through; after I got Swivet I could too easily envision the little nug wandering through the eluvian when I wasn’t around.

I uncorked another beer and removed the arm again. I heard a muffled squeak and glanced down to see Swivet standing there with his stuffed cat in his mouth looking at me hopefully, so I got down on the floor and played with him for a while. I had just thrown myself on the couch, still feeling nervy and unsettled, when I heard the chime of the sending crystal. I activated it quickly.

"Andraste's furry ass, it took you long enough."

"And felicitations to you too, amatus." Dorian sounded amused.

"I've been crawling out of my skin all night," I complained.

"Well _that_ paints a charming picture. Am I right in guessing there's a story behind it?"

"HAH," I said succinctly.

"Well, _I_ have been locked in a circuitous and increasingly pointless debate with a certain magister who shall remain nameless — though you met him at that dinner party where the hosts thought it was a grand idea to have everyone come as cats — so I am ready to hear any and all stories you have to tell me."

"Which cat was he?"

"One of the fluffy orange ones. Even casting a glamour, the man never had an original thought in his life."

“You know, with all due respect to you magisters, that was a really stupid party,” I said.

He laughed. “Amatus, those two _always_ throw stupid parties. I look upon it as proof positive that breeding for magic doesn’t guarantee you’re going to get brains along with it.”

“The cat glamours were silly enough, but glamouring the food to look like mice and birds that were still bleeding and twitching?”

“Believe me, that was the least of their transgressions. Everyone looks upon their parties with a mixture of terror and anticipation. But you can’t _not_ go because then you wouldn’t be able to discuss how dreadful the last one was. However, I don’t think we want to talk about the Salvians all night.”

“No, but it was distracting. I need distracting tonight.” I could feel myself relaxing finally.  

“This is going to end with me demanding you get your ass back up here where it’s _safer_ , isn’t it?” he said.

“Well…”

“Give me a moment then. This demands wine. You know, at this rate you’re going to be responsible for me developing a drinking problem.”

“Don’t blame me — blame the bastard who’s got some obsession with me being a traitor,” I groused. I heard a sad trill down by my feet; Swivet was looking up at me beseechingly. _Oh, why not?_ I boosted him onto the couch, where he curled up and appeared to promptly fall asleep.

"All right, I'm fortified," Dorian said. "What's happened now?"

I told him, in full, gory detail. "…so have you heard of anything like that before?"

"Not that specific version, but as a matter of fact, yes," he replied. "Insect constructs have gone in and out of fashion throughout our history. I'd say it's a shame you weren't able to preserve one, but they sound hideous enough that I don't particularly want to see them. I'm glad you didn't open it at home, though."

" _I'm_ glad I did enough barrier juggling during the Inquisition that I barely had to think about it," I said. "Those things were bloody fast. How long would it take to put all that together? I've never done much with constructs; just don't have the knack."

"Nor do I," Dorian admitted. "Like anything else, it depends on the level of skill the fiend has, but what you're describing would definitely take some time to set up. How big did you say they were?"

"The bodies were about half the length of my index finger; nearly as thick, too, but squashy-looking. By the time you add on the wings and everything…" I shuddered, even though he couldn't see me.

"You know… that rather rings a bell," Dorian said. "I _think_ your friend may have gotten lazy and cribbed that from a book. Let me look into it. I don't know that it will do much good, but at least I'll feel like I'm doing something."

"I'll take anything you have to offer. If they did get it from a book, that may be one more avenue to trace them by. I wanted to ask Mikal about books anyway."

"Any particular reason, or just _to have_?"

I laughed. "The latter. This'll give me more of an excuse. If they'll just stop trying to attack me for even a few days I might be able to accomplish something."

"I still feel like I should be there. You know if we could trust the eluvians I would be."

"I know." I went into the kitchen and got another beer, chilling it as I walked back and resumed my position on the couch. It occurred to me that I hadn't eaten anything since that afternoon…then I thought of the insect swarm and lost my appetite again. "Hey, I tried something with the eluvians today." I told him about my spyglass experiment.

"We have seen The World Outside The World and it is grey," Dorian intoned. "Not quite as exciting as the empty throne of the gods, is it."

I chuckled. "It wasn't a _dead_ loss. The scope wasn't hot _or_ cold when I pulled it back, so we can stop worrying about extreme temperatures."

"Perhaps when you catch this enemy of yours we can hogtie him, toss him through and see what happens."

"And if nothing happens?"

"Then we know it's a success, we see each other more than a few days every few months, and you have a perfect place to dispose of him without _questions_ being asked."

"I like the way you think," I said. We talked a while longer, but Dorian had to sign off early as he had something to do the next morning. I still felt unsettled, used that as an excuse to keep drinking, and eventually fell asleep on the couch. I woke some time later out of a dream where I was drowning to a moment of utter panic as it felt like there was a something heavy pressing on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. In another moment I realized my nug had somehow slithered up the couch without my noticing and decided to use my chest as a pillow. "You really are getting too big for that," I told him, and finally went upstairs to bed.


	12. Lunch and Other Constructs

The next morning I awoke feeling congested — as is usual when I've drunk too much — and resolved to put my mysterious enemy out of my mind for the day aside from sensible precautions. Cassandra wanted to meet with me which meant I had a trip to prepare for.

I'd decided to take Swivet with me this time, so my first business was with the saddler. Obviously my nug couldn't keep up with a horse, so he had his own saddlebag which he'd outgrown. The first time I'd brought him in with my request to construct one, the saddler had been nonplussed that the animal was a pet and not that night's dinner. This time he greeted him by name and even gave him a treat for putting up with the indignity of getting measured. I arranged to pick up the new bag before I left and headed to Sera and Dagna's.

As always when I take Swivet with me, we got many stares and the occasional comment. You'd be surprised how many people seemed to think it was important to inform me that Swivet is a nug. I've grown accustomed to it, and Swivet seems to enjoy the attention. 

Dagna answered my knock. "Oh good, I was hoping you'd come by today," she said as she ushered us in. "I need more blood from you. Hi, Swivet!"

My nug gave her a hello trill and wandered around their living room sniffing as though something might have changed in three days. "I do not have a normal life," I stated. "Normal conversations do not start with 'Hello I need blood from you'."

"You'd hate having a normal life," Dagna said. "You and Sera both."

"True. I was just saying," I agreed as I took my coat off. "Where _is_ Sera?"

"Off plotting with Matze and a few others about what they can do about those monsters who killed Matze's clan. They'll probably be a while." She climbed onto a stool at the big worktable and I took one at the end closest to her. "Go ahead and put on some coffee if you want; I've got some things to get ready here."

I did that and watched her lay out the things she needed. "That doesn't look like any rune I've ever seen," I said.

"Well, A) it's not finished and B) it _isn't_ like any rune you've ever seen; it’s more like a series of connected runes," Dagna explained. "When you're just adding oomph to a weapon or armor, it's easy. You make something disc-like or some other simple shape, inscribe the rune and attach it. This is going to have to go inside the arm without interfering with its movements and work _with_ you and the arm. Like I said, it's a whole new branch of runecrafting. We're still figuring out how best to configure it. I definitely can't drop a typical rune into the middle of the arm and expect it to do anything."

"Sounds more complicated every time I come back," I said as I poured coffee. "You want some?" She said she did so I ferried hers then mine to the table. "Is it going to matter if my blood might be a little…fortified today?"

"Fort- oh. Well, are you still…fortified?"

"No. After what happened yesterday, I just needed something to help decompress."

"It should be okay then-" she looked up at me. "Wait- something _else_ happened?"

I realized she had no idea and quickly filled her in. She shook her head slowly when I finished and said, "You know, after something like that, I'd want to get fortified too. For at least a week. How long is this going to go on? Arm, please."

"Just let me take a drink first. The prosthesis is shite for holding anything like a cup." I took a prodigious swallow of coffee then offered her up my arm. "It's looking like they're determined to drag this on until I've suffered to their satisfaction or I've killed them. Ouch."

"Sorry - it's the only way I know to get your blood out." We watched in silence for a bit as I bled into a shallow bowl she'd arranged rune pieces in the bottom of. "That looks good. Go ahead and heal yourself."

I cast the spell and used a damp cloth to wipe the blood off the site where she'd cut me. The blood in the bowl was already nearly gone, absorbed by the runes. Creepy. "What exactly are those made of?" I asked.

Dagna smiled at me apologetically. "It's complicated."

"In other words, trying to explain it to me would give you a headache?"

"Weeellll…"

“No worries, I’ve had the same problem with people who want to know magey stuff but don’t understand the first thing about it,” I said. “I, uh, suppose there’s no chance it’ll be ready in two days?” At the look on her face, I hastened to add, “Never mind — stupid question.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a sigh. “But look: you want to know why these rune pieces don’t look like runes? Because I think I’m going to have to bond them with the metalwork, which is already bonded with deep lyrium. I’m not even sure _how_ to bond them, but Ademar and I are looking into it because we already found out that just plopping a rune inside it doesn’t do much. There _was_ one rune that made the whole thing glow purple for a few hours, but I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Right. In other words, stop asking until I hear something from you or Ademar.” I smiled wryly to let her know I wasn’t whining. Well, not much anyway.

“Oh, we’ll get it working,” Dagna said with a look of stubborn determination that convinced me they would, “it’s just tricky.”

“I know you will. In the meantime, I actually came over to ask you and Sera a favour. I’ve got to go somewhere for a few days soon and I was hoping some people could keep an eye on my house while I’m gone.”

"You don't need us to watch Swivet?"

"I'm taking him with me. It's not a long trip and I feel guilty leaving him again right away."

She smiled. “Of course. When and for how long?”

I told her, and after some discussion of the details and a promise to drop by again before we left, I set off for my next destination.

That was, of course, the _Hightown Emporium_. Walking through the northwest district with Swivet trotting at my side was interesting. Most people reacted the same as anywhere else — mostly indifferent, with a handful who thought it was the cutest thing ever and another handful who needed to tell me _that’s a nug_ — but there were also a couple of occasions where I caught people eyeing us as though a pet made me a soft target or perhaps thinking of dinner that night. Both times I let a nascent fireball start building in my hand while looking straight at them and both times they backed off.

I was in luck when I reached the Emporium; there were no other customers. I greeted Mikal and introduced her to Swivet, who seemed quite taken with her. She asked how I was doing and I admitted I drank my dinner last night. She confessed she hadn’t had much appetite after that either and suggested we go to a nearby inn for a late lunch. I readily agreed; I was finally feeling hungry.

At first the inn wasn’t going to allow Swivet in, but my promise to be responsible for his behaviour (plus a small monetary donation) convinced them otherwise, and soon were seated at a fairly private table.

“So I tested the chocolate from your package,” she said.

“And?”

“It was just chocolate. Poor quality, but nothing special about it.”

“Leaving me to wonder if they were being clever or just cheap,” I said. “Dorian thinks he may actually have a line on the nightmare insect constructs; he’s looking into it for me.”

“He knows the mage?”

“No, but he thinks he knows the book they lifted the spell from; I’m thinking there can’t be that many of them around.”

“You’d know more about that than I,” she said. “I’ll do whatever I can to help tighten the noose around this bastard, though. It’s ones like that that give all of you a bad name.”

I snorted. “That and the Chantry and Templars running about screaming to everyone that _every single mage_ is one heartbeat away from being possessed _at any moment._ Then some idiot does get possessed and has to be put down and they all run about screaming _we told you so_. So let’s lock up all the mages and conveniently ignore all the conventional murders and atrocities that people do every sodding day.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ooh, sore spot, I see.”

“Yeah, well, being locked up in a Circle for eighteen years’ll do that to you.”

“You’ve never felt in danger of possession? I really don’t know how that works; something about fade demons trying to tempt you?”

“They try, yes, though not nearly as often as the Chantry would have people believe. But no, I’ve never felt in danger of one of them managing it. Dorian’s opinion is in that respect he and I are alike — we’re both far too self-possessed to let anyone else move in.”

She chuckled. “I haven’t known you long, but from what I’ve seen that’s an accurate assessment. But the Chantry's always saying it just takes one moment of weakness and even the strongest mage-”

I snorted again. "Mikal, the shit I've gone through in the last half-dozen years, if it was going to happen it absolutely would have already. I've been physically and mentally exhausted repeatedly, nearly dead twice, oh- and been physically in the Fade twice. Not gonna happen."

She grinned. "Maybe the Fade demons saw the kind of crap you were going through and decided they didn't want any part of it."

I had to laugh. "Maybe you're right. But aside from that weirdness in Kirkwall years ago, the incidences of possession and spontaneous abominization are much less frequent than they'd have you believe."

She raised an eyebrow at me. " 'Abominization'?"

"It's a new term I just coined."

Our food arrived and for the next while we concentrated on that. I don’t know about Mikal, but I discovered I was famished. Once we’d demolished our meals, we talked about perfectly normal things for once and found we still enjoyed each other’s company. Finally she had to return to the Emporium, so Swivet and I headed home. For a wonder, no one tried to attack me or even set me up to injure myself. I spent the rest of the evening reading and fiddling about with the eluvian and nothing happened. I contacted Dorian at the end of the night to tell him nothing had happened, he told me he was still chasing down that book, and the rest of the conversation was about perfectly normal things. 

It was refreshing, though part of me kept waiting for something to come along and spoil it.

**=#=**

The next day was much the same. I enlisted Sera, Dagna and Jasker to keep an eye on my house, went to the pub with Ademar, got involved in an ongoing game of Wicked Grace and actually won more than a few rounds, coming out of the place with more coin than I entered with for once. The girl with the Inquisition fascination was working, but I did like usual and paid her virtually no attention except to nod thanks when she cleared our table. The only difference was I was now aware that she kept staring at me and seemed to contrive to make her way to our table far more often than was strictly necessary. It was simultaneously annoying and vaguely flattering, but I tried to put it out of my head and mostly succeeded.

I got home late to find the sending crystal indicating that Dorian had tried to contact me. I quickly pulled off my coat and boots, fussed over Swivet for a minute, unstrapped the arm and activated the crystal. In perhaps five minutes his voice came through.

“Kai?”

“I’m here. Was just out fleecing people at Wicked Grace.”

“Good to know you’re keeping in practice. No death packages or insulting word-bombs tonight?”

I chuckled. “Only a few from the losers at the card game.”

“Well then. Prepare yourself, amatus — I am a genius.”

“Is this just a general reminder, or did you find something?”

“I found your constructs. They were in a charming little book called _Maleficus de Noxia Vermis_ , which loosely translates into either the wizard or poisoner of harmful worms.”

“I think it loses something in the translation,” I said. “That makes it sound like an instruction booklet for an extermination service.”

“Which, in its own nasty way, it is, but the worms aren’t the creatures being exterminated. I ran across it one day when I was avoiding yet another lecture on the familial duties that every Altus scion is expected to fulfill. I always remembered it because of the illustrations — full-colour and lovingly executed illustrations of the effects of each poison. Perfect bedtime reading for a growing boy.”

“I can imagine. So what are they?”

“Your constructs-“

“Dorian,” I interrupted, “please stop calling them _my_ constructs. I could die happy never seeing one again.”

“Very well, _the_ constructs are called _Senex Miseria_ , which translates almost exactly as _Old Man’s Misery_.”

“Apt: that describes the heads on those things. Someone actually took the time to match their look with the name they gave them," I said.

"You've got to appreciate that sort of attention to detail; too many evil mages nowadays just take no pride in their work." 

"Do I want to know what the misery entails?”

“Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway. Let me preface this by saying whoever this mage is, they need to be stopped; my own preference would be in a very permanent fashion involving much terrified shrieking beforehand, and I would be delighted to do the honours.”

“This is going to be bad, isn’t it.” I scratched absently at my left arm where the straps for the prosthesis had been secured.

“It is. I quote: _The Senex Miseria delivers its venom via a barbed stinger situated at the rear of its abdomen; it is equipped with two chelae it uses to grip the skin, ensuring it is not easily dislodged before delivering its toxic compound. Once the poison has been delivered, the construct drops off and discorporates… In the first moments after injection, the site becomes inflamed and itches painfully, encouraging the recipient to scratch and further spread the venom…_ et cetera et cetera… Ah, here we go: _The true diabolical beauty of this venom can be observed over the ensuing days. At each injection site, the venom eats the flesh for a period of two to eight days, leaving open wounds that are resistant to healing and remarkably painful. In the event that the recipient survives without succumbing to infection, permanent, disfiguring scarification is guaranteed._ Charming, yes?”

“Fuck me…” The sheer number of bugs that had been in that swarm left me feeling sick.

“I’d love to, but that’s neither here nor there,” Dorian said, at least making me smile. “Amatus, this bastard isn’t fucking around. Come back to Minrathous.”

“I don’t want to jeopardize your Lucerni by hanging around you too much,” I objected insincerely. 

Dorian made an impatient noise. “Kai, my political concerns do not extend to risking your death. We can work something out.”

“I don’t like running away. Like I said, unless they’re put down, I’ll have to spend -what?- the rest of my life looking over one shoulder worrying about them catching up with me? No. It has to end here.”

“And if they get to you first?” he demanded.

“Hopefully I’ve enlisted enough help that they won’t manage to. If it helps any, I do have to leave town for nearly a week.”

“That’s not long enough for a Tevinter run; what are you up to?” He sounded relieved.

“Cassandra wants to meet with me. I’ve no idea why, but it’s all very hush-hush. I’m leaving tomorrow. The meeting place is a few days’ ride from here.”

“Cassandra? My, my. What in the world does she need that Divine Victoria can’t get?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “I’ll let you know, assuming I’m not sworn to secrecy upon pain of death.”

“Even then you can give me _hints_. I’m very good at hints. I’m just glad it’ll get you out of there for a bit. What if this mage tries to follow you and take you out on the road?”

“Then he’s dead,” I said flatly. “If he knows anything about me at all, he won’t be stupid enough to try it. Can you repeat the name of that book and the description? I need to write this down for Mikal and the others.”

Dorian did as I asked, then we changed the subject. We talked for quite a while longer, and I signed off with a promise to contact him every night. _Senex Miseria_ … I was afraid those damned things were going to haunt the corners of my nightmares for a long time to come.


	13. Pranks and Preparations

When I got up the next day it was chilly and overcast. Not bad weather for travelling as long as it didn't rain. Still, I threw a few extra small blankets for Swivet into my pile of gear and amused myself picturing my enemy mage shivering in a dank basement somewhere, perhaps even catching their proverbial death of cold. That and similar revenge fantasies kept me going through my entire morning routine, including two large cups of strong Antivan coffee and some extra time spent renewing and strengthening the protective spells on my coat. Sometimes I'm easily entertained.

Before I could get on the road, I did have a few errands to run. I stopped by the saddler and picked up Swivet's new saddlebag, which I dropped off at the stables (no new packages had arrived, happily). Next was Sera and Dagna’s. Sera was home this time, and in high spirits. "Here's you again," she greeted me. "Always good, yeah?"

"Always," I agreed. "Something good happen?"

She grinned. "Prankster struck again. You know who Lord Norbart Bothington is?"

"That's the one everyone calls Lord Nobby-Bottom. He's got that oversized coach he had custom made in Val Royeaux or some nonsense like that?"

"Yes!" She said triumphantly. "Even _you_ know."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "You say that like it's a miracle. I'm not _completely_ ignorant of what goes on in Hasmal."

"Yeah, but you're gone all the time and shite keeps _happening_ to you."

She had a point. "Fair enough," I allowed. "So what happened to old Nobby-Bottom?"

"Someone snuck in and glued fluffy red and white ribbons over every single inch of his coach," she snickered. "It looks like a rolling holiday pastry now. They painted all the wheels and bits red too."

I had to admit, that was amusing. The man's coach was a rolling monstrosity half again as large as anything else on the streets. He had a team of six horses to pull the stupid thing, and his biggest brag was its specially constructed, overstuffed seats, allowing him "the most exquisitely comfortable ride in all the Free Marches" — thus, "Nobby Bottom". Every time he took it out, it snarled traffic, and he never tired of bragging about it. 

I expressed my approval of the prank and changed the subject as I was on a time limit. Dagna was at the work table, putting the finishing touches on a few run-of-the-mill runes she'd been hired to make, so I was able to give them a quick rundown of my plans. I figured I'd be gone five days, six at most, and let them know that I'd keyed my wards so they could pass through them if necessary. I also told them what Dorian had told me about the _Senex Miseria._ They were appropriately horrified and promised to be on their guard; I was still concerned that my enemy had been asking about my friends. Shortly I left with a promise to 'ding' them when I got back (with my spelled bell set-up that I mentioned earlier).

My final stop was the Emporium. It was open (I still hadn't thought to actually find out what her hours were), but once Mikal had finished with her only customer, she put a _Back in 15_ sign on the door. "I know you've not got much time, so I assume this won't be a back room day," she said.

I nodded agreement. "I wanted to swing by to give you the latest. Dorian found those bloody bug constructs." I handed her the paper I'd copied out with the information.

Her expression grew hard as she read. "Andraste's tits…this son of a bitch is _vicious_." She looked up at me angrily. "Even the Crows and the Orlesians with their damn stupid Great Game don't use this kind of crap. Whoever this is, they need to be taken out. The book title is good, though. I know nearly every book dealer in the Free Marches and a few elsewhere as well. I should be able to find out who bought it."

"Unless they already owned or had access to it," I reminded her. "Remember, Dorian found it in his family's library. But it's one more avenue to follow, as is the possibility that they may come to your shop. If they're determined to stay here until they've done whatever the fuck they're trying to do to me, they're eventually going to need supplies, you'd think."

A look of horror came over her. "Maker, I could have sold them the ingredients for that damn box they sent you."

"Just keep an eye out for anything odd. Do you have anything that can combat mind magic? They've been covering their tracks with it so no one can tell me what they look like."

She nodded. "I have a few things. Hopefully by the time you get back I'll be able to tell you who's doing this. Or bring their head out from behind the counter so you can see for yourself."

"Sounds delightful," I said with a grin. "I don't know how religiously they've been tracking me, but they may not know you and I are friendly — that could work to our advantage."

"Just take care of yourself on this trip of yours, will you? And let me know when you get back."

I promised I would and went home to collect Swivet and my gear. In some ways I was looking forward to the trip as it would be a break from wondering what horrible thing was going to happen next. I was also curious what Cassandra could possibly need from me. I warded the house more elaborately than was probably necessary once we were out the door, made it to the stables unscathed and soon we were on the road.  


	14. Deep in the Woods

When we started down the main road leading south out of Hasmal, Swivet was standing up in his saddlebag, excitedly gawking at everything around us. Remember I mentioned that the area around Hasmal has a lot of rich farmland? Well, the road to the ferry across the Minanter River passes right through the middle of them, and for some reason most of the farms there seem to specialize in cabbage. Let me tell you, there is nothing remotely interesting about cabbage, cabbage farms or cabbage farmers. Within a half hour, Swivet had disappeared inside his bag, finding sleep more rewarding than the relentless sameness of the landscape. I didn't blame him. Personally, I've been on the road so much the last several years that I easily slipped into a state I think of as travel mode: where you're simultaneously very aware of your surroundings and a hair's breadth away from dozing off. By the time we reached the ferry I was fairly convinced that either my enemy wasn't keen on travelling or they hadn't noticed us leave; the only people I'd seen couldn't have looked less magey if they'd put conscious effort into it.

The other side of the river was refreshingly cabbage-free but not much more exciting. I stopped on occasion to let Swivet escape the saddle bag and take care of necessities, but that was as interesting as things got. We spent the night at an inn I was familiar with and were on the road again by mid-morning. 

It was late afternoon when we finally turned off the main road, heading for some village I'd never heard of. This new road was nowhere near as well-kept; really, it was a couple of glorified ruts along which someone had made a half-hearted attempt to clear the underbrush. I hoped this village wasn't far, as I wasn't in the mood to camp overnight; it hadn't rained yet, but it kept acting like it was going to. The terrain gradually gave way from open fields to a rocks-and-trees motif, and then trees and trees. It was one of those patches of forest that looked like it had been set up by someone vying for first prize in a Mysterious Woodland contest: all tall, straight trees with short, ferny underbrush and dramatic beams of light lancing down from the canopy. Even though I knew they were constructs, my mind kept insisting on populating the upper reaches of the trees with hives of _Senex Miseria_ , and trying to banish the thought was incredibly difficult. Swivet, on the other hand, thought those woods were the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen. The first few times he squeaked urgently to be let out of his saddlebag I thought he needed to and obliged him, but by his third attempt it was clear he just wanted to poke about in the woods. When I wouldn't stop, he squeaked louder. I told him no, and he added pawing at my leg to his repertoire. I told him _fuck no, we have somewhere to be_. He made the rudest noise I've ever heard come out of a nug, turned his back on me and hung onto the lip of the bag, staring out at the trees and sulking. We rode in annoyed silence as the light faded and I had to make one of my own to compensate.

The village — such as it was — appeared with no warning. One minute there was nothing but increasingly dark forest, the next we rode into a good-sized cleared area, spottily lit by torches on tall poles. I banished my light in case the locals were of the mage=evil persuasion. Swivet thawed out of his sulk enough to look at me questioningly. "I think this is where we're supposed to be," I told him. I reined in my horse and waited to see if there was a welcoming committee.

It wasn’t long before a shape came out of the gloom towards me. It was humanoid, in a lumpy, I-live-in-the-woods sort of way. I couldn’t tell its gender, and still couldn’t when it said, “Messere Trevelyan?” Although what actually came out was more like, “Messer Trevlan?” _Oh well, close enough._ “Yes,” I said.

“Holiness ent here yet. She said you was to be given a rum.”

 _A rum?_ “Well, that was kind of her,” I said.

“It’re thisaway. Follow me.”

I kept my horse to a walk as we followed the…person through a huddle of houses to one near the perimeter of the — I suppose you could call it residential — area. _Oh. A ROOM._

“It ent much to a fella like you, I imagine, but it’re clean and water tight.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, um-” I said, dismounting from my horse. “What should I call you, anyway?”

“I be Morvan. That’s a fine horse.”

“Yes, he is,” I agreed. “Is there a stable here? We’ve been on the road all day and he needs tending.”

“Aye. If you’ll have trust, my boy ken tend to him.”

“That’d be fine,” I said as I unhooked the small bags from my saddle horn then moved back to remove the bedroll. Any time someone else tends the upkeep of to my horse, I'm happy. Swivet — who’d had a case of the shys when Morvan approached — stuck his head cautiously out of his saddlebag, ears laying flat against his skull as Morvan gave a piercing, syncopated whistle.

“Best way to tell someone they’re needed round these parts,” Morvan said. “Maker’s breath, what’re that?” he _(she?)_ was staring at Swivet.

“He’s a nug. You don’t have them around here?” After the fifth Blight ended, it seemed that nugs had managed to spread everywhere in defiance of the fact that they don’t seem suited to survive much of anywhere.

Morvan shook her _(his?)_ head. “No, can’t say as I’ve run across one. Looks like summon crossed a pig with a rabbit. They good eatin’?”

I sighed. “Yes, but this one isn’t for eating. His name is Swivet and he’s a companion animal. Like a dog or a cat.” Swivet sniffed at Morvan suspiciously.

“Ah,” Morvan said. “What's he do?”

“Do?” I echoed.

“Dog hunts, protects its people. Cats catch vermin. What’s yer nug do?”

 _Um._ "He can sense hostile magic." Well, he did. Once. I figured that would garner more respect than _he's cute_. This village didn't look like it went in much for cute.

Morvan looked at Swivet skeptically. "That's a talent you need, is it?"

"Sometimes, yes. Is this where I'm staying?"

Before Morvan could answer, an adolescent boy came trotting up. He looked at me curiously. "He the one for Her Ladyship?"

"Aye. Tend his horse," Morvan said shortly.

The boy bobbed his head and took my horse's reins. "Don't you worry, I'll take good care of him."

I nodded my thanks and retrieved the rest of my gear as Morvan said, "Like I said, it ent much, but it're a solid roof over your head," and led me into the small house. For some reason I'd expected a dirt floor and perhaps a rude cot in one corner, but it was actually quite nice, with a smoothed wood floor, a compact but comfortable-looking bed and two simple but well-made chairs on a worn but cheerful area rug near a fireplace. It reminded me a bit of the Avvar.

"You need a taper or would you fain do it yerself?" Morvan asked.

I looked stupidly at him _(her). "_ Excuse me?"

"Yer a magus ent you?"

I puzzled through the accent for a moment before it dawned on me. "A mage? Yes. You're okay with that?"

Morvan looked amused. "You planning on turning into a monster or burning our village t'ground?"

"Of course not."

"Then I got no problem with it. Save me fetching a taper if you ken light the fire yerself." I said I could and got a satisfied nod. "I'll send summat to you with food betimes. What's the nug eat?"

Swivet trotted over to us from his investigation of the corners of the house at the mention of food. "Pretty much everything," I told Morvan. "I still haven't figured out if nugs have a natural diet or not."

"Easy to feed, then. Sorry there's no do for you, but Her Holiness said things was to be quiet as if weren't nothing going on."

I assured Morvan I had no need of a 'do' and was told to feel free to wander the village and just ask if I needed anything; Cassandra wasn't expected until tomorrow morning. Suddenly I was glad I'd stuck a book into my gear on the off chance I might get some time to read it. Morvan reiterated that food would be on its way and left. I lit the fireplace and hung my coat up on a wall hook. I'd certainly spent the night in worse places.

Once I'd eaten — the food, like everything else about this place, was simple but well-made — I had a look around the village. It didn't take long. There was a central square with a building that probably served as a town hall, a few small shops and a blacksmith, houses around that, and on the perimeter of the cleared area were communal cooking facilities, communal washing facilities, a small stables (my horse looked very content), and farther away, communal latrine facilities. Very big on community, these people were. They had taken 'Her Holiness' instructions very much to heart: they were friendly enough, but everyone carried on as though this was any other day and left me to my own devices. They also went to bed _very_ early. I quickly grew bored and went back to my 'rum' and my book, much to Swivet's dismay. Even though it was dark as the worst sections of the Deep Roads once you left the torchlit areas, he seemed to find everything about the place fascinating. I still can't fathom why. I read for quite a while, contacted Dorian to tell him where I was and get sympathy for how impossibly dull quaint villages in the woods really are, and eventually went to bed.

I was awakened from a dream which had just begun veering into nightmare territory by a small, clawed hand scrabbling at my arm. It was Swivet, of course, trying to either wake me up or climb into the bed; perhaps both. I couldn't blame him — the fire was nearly out and it had gotten uncomfortably cold. I could hear that the rain that had threatened all day yesterday had finally begun in earnest. I got up long enough to throw more wood on the fire and goose it back to life with a quick spell, then crawled back into bed. Swivet trotted happily back to the bed I'd put together for him near the fireplace. I supposed the rest of the village was already up sawing logs or whatever they did every day, but if I don't _have_ to be up early, I choose not to. I followed my nug's fine example and went back to sleep.


	15. Meeting the Divine

The next time I awoke was again not by choice. Someone was knocking insistently on the door. I tried to ignore it, but they wouldn't stop, and then my body woke up enough to start informing me that there were things it needed to do regardless of my feelings about it. I was already half-dressed, so it just took me a minute to pull on my trousers and answer the door. A young woman was standing there looking apologetic; behind her I could see the rain pouring down relentlessly. "Begging yer pardon, Messer Trevlen-"

"Just call me Kai," I interrupted. "It'll be easier for all of us."

She blinked in momentary consternation but recovered nicely. "Aye. Kai. We'd no wish to trouble you, but Her Holiness is here - got here a time ago - and-"

"And she sent you to tell me to get my arse out of bed?" I finished.

A surprised laugh escaped before she clamped down on it. "In so many words, aye. Meaning no offense."

"None taken." I smiled at her and asked, "Do you have coffee?"

She frowned. "Coffee? What might that be?"

I sighed. This day was starting to go badly. "Tea, then? Strong tea?"

"Aye, I ken bring you tea. Would you be wanting some food as well?"

"No, tea's fine. Thank you."

She bobbed her head and left. Rather than slog through the rain to get into the communal spirit, I used the chamber pot someone had thoughtfully equipped the house with and set about getting myself in order. Now that I knew they not only didn't have coffee, but didn't even know what it is, I felt like I needed some desperately. As I tightened the laces on my boots, Swivet came up to me with his "I'm hungry" trill. I dug a few of his cookies out of one of the small saddlebags to tide him over and wondered what the local version of tea was likely to be. I hadn't quite finished with my right boot lace when another knock at the door told me I was about to find out (I've gotten fairly adept at managing laces with only one good hand, but it still takes longer than it used to).

The young woman handed me the tea and gave me directions to my meeting with Cassandra ( _It're the biggest house on the square - you can't rightly miss it_ ). I thanked her again, taking the earthenware pot and cup from her, and closed the door. Swivet ran to the door with an urgent squeak so I opened it again. He looked out at the pouring rain and looked at me as though I was responsible for it. I shrugged at him. "They don't have coffee either." He made a low, raspy noise involving clicks and a growl and, ears flat against his head, picked his way onto the muddy ground. I left the door open for him, finished tying my boot and poured my tea, which actually didn't smell bad. I'd barely finished when he came dashing back in to park himself on the throw rug in front of the fire.

"Still think this is the most wonderful place on Thedas?" I asked him. He ignored me in favour of busily trying to dry himself off. I drank the tea — which was good as far as tea goes, but left me unsatisfied and slightly headachy — as quickly as I could. Maker only knew how long Cassandra had been waiting.

I threw on my coat and said to Swivet, "Let's go."

He looked outside, looked up at me, and made no move whatsoever to stand up. "You can't stay in here," I told him, "For all I know they'll want to clean or something. Come on."

He squeaked. It was a negative-sounding squeak. "You do know your wild relatives run around in weather like this all the time," I told him. "I've seen them." He scratched himself and sat back down. "I suppose you think I should carry you." He yawned. 

"It's not far, you know. Nothing here is far. Oh, bloody fine." I concluded my one-sided conversation by picking him up and depositing him in his saddlebag. "Be glad I didn't leave this with the horse, because you'd be walking," I told him. He trilled complacently as I picked the bag up and strode through the door, closing it after me with a little more force than was necessary.

In the few minutes it took me to walk to the "biggest house on the square" I got drenched. Torrential rain is right up there with giant spiders for things I could happily never encounter again in my life, and I really didn't blame my nug for wanting to avoid it. I knocked on the door — also with a little more force than strictly necessary — and waited impatiently. It was answered not by a villager, but by a … I believe they're called the Knights Divine. Anyway, it was one of the Divine's personal guard; a big, armored bastard who looked like any attempt at smiling would shatter his face into a thousand pieces. "Comte Trevelyan?" he said.

"You were expecting someone else out here?" I pushed past him to get out of the rain. For the briefest of moments he resisted, but must have realized how ridiculous that was. "Sorry, but in case you hadn't noticed, it's bloody pouring out there."

"My apologies," he said. "The Divine awaits you within," he gestured to the only doorway it was possible to go through barring the one I'd just used to enter. I'm afraid my tolerance for protocol had eroded badly in the absence of coffee, so I just said, "Thanks," and walked through.

Cassandra stood as I entered, a delightfully genuine smile lighting her face. "Kai! Finally!"

"Just one moment," I cautioned her, "Let me get my coat off; it's all drippy." I set the saddlebag down on its side so Swivet could get out and pulled off my coat.

"Still the same coat, I see," she said.

"I love this coat. It is a coat that puts all other coats to shame," I swiped my shirtsleeve across my head to get the worst of the rain off. "There. Hello, Cassandra," I crossed the room towards her.

"Hello, old friend," she met me halfway and gave me a strong embrace which I returned. 

She stepped back and studied me, her hands on my shoulders. “You’re looking well.”

“As are you,” I replied. “Nice to see you back in normal clothes. I don’t think I’ll ever completely get used to that Chantry get-up.”

“Nor will I,” she said, rolling her eyes. She let go my shoulders and gestured to the table to one side of us. “But the good I can do is worth the inconvenience. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.” I followed her lead and took a seat. “I only just got up. Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“We got in early. If you’d been up I would have known something has gone terribly wrong with the world. Oh! And I brought coffee; they should be bringing it in any moment now.”

“I love you,” I said gratefully.

She raised an eyebrow. “Your love is that easily bought?”

“Yes. I have no shame,” I said. “They did not know what I was talking about here.”

“You do know that outside of Antiva, only the wealthy are very familiar with it.”

I blinked. “Um. Actually I wasn’t aware of that. Really?”

“Really,” she confirmed.

“But Hasmal has two coffee houses,” I said as if that made all the difference.

She smiled slightly. “And who runs them?”

“An Antivan family that- oh. Well they’re very popular,” I said as though that too were relevant.

“And becoming moreso. But among the general populace it is still a novelty to most. You have a rich man’s addiction,” she teased.

“I wouldn’t call it an addiction,” I objected even though I knew there was some truth to that.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You wouldn’t? You- Maker’s breath, is that Swivet?” My nug had finally decided to venture out of the saddlebag. “Kai, he’s gotten so _big!_ The last time I saw him, Leliana had just picked him out for you.” Swivet approached her with a cautious welcoming trill and let her fuss over him. Within minutes it was clear he’d decided she was wonderful as he parked himself next to her chair.

A few moments later one of the villagers came in with the coffee (which he referred to rather doubtfully as tea) and more came in with platters of food, presumably to ensure the Divine didn’t become faint with hunger on their watch. Once I had my coffee, I put together a small plate of food for Swivet and helped myself to a pastry. Cassandra popped some sort of small dumpling in her mouth and declared it delicious. A final wavelet of villagers entered with pitchers of water and containers of other drinks that I wasn’t ready to address yet — one even brought a water bowl for Swivet — and departed with a quiet efficiency equal to any palace staff.

“What _is_ this place?” I demanded. “This is not a run-of-the-mill village in the middle of the woods.”

“Most of the time it is,” Cassandra said, snicking another dumpling from its platter, “but it is also a Chantry safe house. We use it when absolute privacy is needed, or when someone needs to be very well-hidden.”

“At least that explains why it seems quite a bit more civilized than most of the villages this size we ever went to during the Inquisition.” With all that food staring at me, I decided perhaps I could handle something to eat after all and set about putting together a plate for myself. “But that does lead me to ask: why are we _here_? And how did you manage to escape to meet me with only the one guard-goon?”

“I will answer your second question first,” she said with a slightly mischievous smile. “This _is_ a matter of utmost secrecy, so I was able to convince them that travelling with a retinue would accomplish the exact opposite. We reached a compromise. I would leave as myself in my old armor while false reports of the Divine Victoria visiting elsewhere are disseminated, with Paul as my only visible companion. He’s a former Chevalier and absolutely loyal.”

"Seems like a fun guy," I said blandly. “So your Left Hand has spies lurking about behind every second tree?”

“Every third tree, perhaps,” she grinned, “but they are under strict orders to only reveal themselves should my life be directly threatened. It is as close as I can get to venturing out unsupervised these days.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how you tolerate it.”

“How did you tolerate the Circle?” She snicked another dumpling.

“Resentfully and under duress. I also left the moment the opportunity presented itself. You _volunteered_.”

She eyed the dumplings, opted for a small, savory turnover instead. “I suppose I find that, however annoying at times, the loss of freedom is worth it. The things I can do to help reform the Chantry into the force for good it was meant to be - to help the people of Thedas - as Divine are things I would never be able to do otherwise.”

I sighed. “You sound like Dorian with his quest to redeem Tevinter.”

“His is a noble goal,” Cassandra said as her hand hovered over another turnover. “I know it’s difficult for you, but you should be proud of him.”

“I am. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. You know you could just put together a plate,” I pointed out.

“Oh, no,” she assured me, “as long as I don’t put together a plate, it doesn’t count.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Well, I suppose I respect your dedication to your vision even though I don’t think I’d be able to tolerate it myself. Maybe it’s because I’ve never really had one of my own.”

“You don’t consider what you did with the Inquisition to be the same?” she said, sounding surprised.

“Not really. The Inquisition was _your_ vision, not mine. I just did what needed to be done.”

“But what you accomplished was amazing. How could you-“

I put my hand over hers. “I also walked away.” I smiled and gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Not my vision. At the end I was bored, irritable and drinking far too much. It probably wouldn’t have been long before you _asked_ me to leave.”

She frowned. “You’re selling yourself short.”

“No,” I said around a bite of sandwich, “just telling the truth. Most people would find my life now terribly disorderly, but it suits me very well. The only thing I dislike about it is that Dorian’s in Minrathous. That would have happened if I’d stayed with the Inquisition too, but instead of seeing him regularly I’d have all those duties as Inquisitor, which would mean adding ‘miserable’ to the list. I guarantee it would have ended badly.”

She smiled wryly. “You and I are so different in so many ways. How is it that we managed to become friends?”

I shrugged. “Neither one of us can ever completely figure the other out. It keeps things interesting.”

She bit into her turnover, eyes thoughtful. “I like that answer. As Divine, one problem I continually encounter is everyone _agreeing_ with me about _everything_. It is easy to lose perspective.”

“Why do you think I always kept people like Sera around?” I grinned.

She laughed. “How are Sera and Dagna?” We chatted for a bit about our mutual friends while I finished eating and Cass finished not-officially-eating, as though some tacit agreement had been made to avoid whatever had brought her here until we could concentrate fully upon it.

Finally we pushed the plates away and the atmosphere in the room changed subtly. “This has been delightful, but you didn’t sneak away from Val Royeaux and ask me out to this maker-forsaken wilderness just so we could catch up with each other,” I said. “What in the world do you need that your own people can’t do for you?”

“You’re right; this is not a purely social occasion,” she said with a sigh. 

"Is it something to do with Solas?" It was the only thing I could think of that might somehow require my involvement.

"No, though I realize his success would render every other problem we have moot."

"Well he's not going to be successful, so your problem is important," I replied. "What's going on?"

“Ugh. Where to even start?”

“Somewhere near the beginning?” I suggested.

“Always with the jokes. Still, I appreciate that you seem to be able to find humor in most situations.”

“Seeing as I don’t know the situation, it’s not difficult at the moment.”

“You understand what I am to tell you must not go beyond the two of us,” she said earnestly. “My advisors were not pleased with my decision to contact you.”

I nodded. “As you wish.”

“Does anyone know that it was I you were meeting?”

“Just Dorian,” I admitted, “but he’s already aware I may not be able to tell him why.”

“Please don’t.” She paused, her brow wrinkling. “How does _he_ know?”

“Sending crystal, remember? We talk every night.”

“Of course. Well.” She paused again, taking a deep breath. “The beginning. Some things have occurred at the Grand Cathedral that the public must remain unaware of. Some thefts and… an atrocity has been committed.”

“An atrocity,” I echoed. “What constitutes an atrocity? I assume we’re not talking someone painting mustaches on all the statues of Andraste.”

She gave a short laugh. “I wish. Perhaps it would be better if you read the report.” She stood and crossed to a bench at the perimeter of the room, opening a valise and removing a sheaf of papers. She handed most of them to me, a grim look on her face. “You read quickly; it shouldn’t take you long.”

I started reading. The first few pages detailed a series of thefts; they were still trying to determine what all had been stolen. There were archived private correspondences missing, records of real estate transactions, transcribed minutes of old meetings, some valuable trinkets; if there was an internal logic to it all I couldn’t yet see it in the drily catalogued list. The search for stolen items had then expanded and it appeared several more current documents were also missing. Sounded potentially embarrassing for the Chantry, but nothing that began to explain why I’d be needed. 

I turned to the next set of reports and things got much more interesting and much more grisly. Just over a month ago a Chantry staffer and a sister had been discovered together. The twist was they were both very dead. Both had had their throats viciously slit — the entire area they were discovered in had been awash with blood — and after death they had been…posed. The report writer had tried to keep the description very clinical: the two had been stripped, except for the Chantry sister’s hat, which they’d taken the time to affix to her head, and positioned so that it appeared they were orally pleasuring each other. This was undoubtedly the atrocity.

I looked up at Cassandra. “Ugly, but I don’t see how this would require my involvement.”

“The man who was murdered was a relative, Gareth Pentaghast,” she explained. “A distant one — you remember I told you how _many_ Pentaghasts there are — but it was I who got him the position, as a favor to an aunt. It was just a minor position; he delivered messages within the Grand Cathedral, that is all.” 

She handed me a small, painted portrait in a frame. “This is him,” she said. It showed a young man who definitely had not been as lucky in the looks department as Cassandra’s direct family. He had thinning, mousy brown hair, slightly froggy, sleepy-looking eyes the same indeterminate shade of brown, a narrow face and practically no chin, a flaw he’d apparently tried to cover with a sorry-looking tuft of facial hair. And this was with the portrait-maker undoubtedly trying to make him look better than he did in real life.

“I hope he had a good personality,” I murmured.

Cassandra tried to turn a laugh into a snort. “Unfortunately, it appears he did not. When they went through his belongings, it became clear that his presence in that area of the archives was, unlike Sister Lidia’s, not an accident. He was involved in the thefts.”

“Well, he pissed _someone_ off."

“His partner, we think. A mid-level functionary attached to the library. My people were also responsible for hiring him.” She fished a sheet of paper out of the pile she’d kept, handing it to me. “I’ve been told this is quite a good likeness.”

This one was a sketch, but done by someone with some real talent. Unlike poor Pentaghast, the man was attractive in a vulpine way.  “If he managed to assassinate two people and take his time posing them _and_ still leave unnoticed, I’d say he’s got quite a different skill set than your average librarian.”

“Quite,” Cassandra agreed drily.

“I take it these reports aren’t telling the whole story, because I still don’t see the problem or how I fit into it. So you or your people hired them both. How many other people did you also hire or appoint? That can’t be that big a deal.”

“Normally it would not be,” she sighed. “We knew the second man as Trevon Delisle, a Nevarran related to the Van Markham family.”

“Aren’t they like the Pentaghast’s sworn enemies or something?” 

“Not for quite some time. The Pentaghasts won rulership by a combination of marriage and a lack of Van Markham heirs back in the Steel Age, but the Van Markhams have enjoyed the status of being second only to us ever since. Our two families have ruled Nevarra for centuries, and with Markus Pentaghast ill and no clear heir, things have gotten increasingly… unsettled of late.”

“Okay, and?” I tried not to sound bored.

“Patience.” She half-smiled. “The Left Hand looked into both men, of course. Gareth was exactly what he seemed to be: an idiot. Delisle, however, was quite another story.”

“I gathered that,” I said. “What is he — a Crow?”

“No. His Nevarran paperwork and identity were nearly impeccable. Our first clue that they were not real came from a note Delisle had given Gareth concerning where they were to meet. On the back were imprints of another note he must have written just before; he’d set the new note on top of it. One of our people was able to draw the image from the back-“

“One of your mages, you mean?”

“Yes, Kai, one of our mages.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway. I won’t go into detail about how they did it, but they found out where the message had been sent. Tevinter.”

I shrugged. “So there was a Tevinter spy in the Chantry pretending to be Nevarran. You can’t possibly tell me anyone was surprised. I admit the murders are excessive, but still.”

“Obviously that alone didn’t surprise anyone. I am building up to it,” she said a bit irritably.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be obtuse,” I said contritely. “It’s been a long week.”

“Apology accepted,” she said with a smile. “If I may continue, the fact that the man is Tevinter raised alarm bells and our people started looking into the situation _much_ more thoroughly. What they found is… grim. And potentially very damaging.”

“To whom?”

“The Pentaghasts. The Van Markhams. The Chantry. And particularly to myself.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “All that? What in the world did he take?”

“I…cannot tell you,” she sighed. “You would not believe what I had to go through just to be able to tell you this much. All I can say is the things that were stolen and the things that were left behind paint a picture of collusion between our families, the Chantry and Tevinter of which I am the center. It is nonsense, of course, but they have very skillfully made it appear as though the Divine Victoria is not only a traitor to her country, but to the Chantry and all of southern Thedas. Thus far we have kept it contained, and no one outside the inner circles of the Chantry is aware, but all that man has to do is release certain documents to certain people and it could damage many other people irreparably.”

“It’s really that severe?” I asked. “Do you know who’s behind it?”

“We have our suspicions, but again, I cannot say. This is, however, where you come in.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got me curious. Go ahead.”

“We managed to find out some information about Delisle. Not a lot, sadly. From what little of his correspondence we could recover, it appears he may be a member of the Asina family of Tevinter.”

“Are they Altus?” I asked, referring to the highest social class of Tevinter, who are, of course, all mages; Dorian is Altus.

“Yes, but we could not find out his given name.”

“So you’re assuming he’s a mage.”

“We…do not know. It does not appear that he used any magic while he was here, not even during the murders when you might expect he would to facilitate his escape.”

“Huh.” I turned that over in my mind. “From an Altus family but possibly not a mage himself? That’s about the worst thing that could happen to a person in that world.”

Now it was Cassandra’s turn to look bored. “Regardless, we have positive reports of a man matching his description entering Tevinter shortly after Asina left here.”

“How sure are you that’s he’s part of that family and not a retainer or a hired agent?”

“Reasonably. Our people recovered a few scraps of private correspondence. Every one of them was signed ‘Asina’. Notes he wrote to people in Orlais were uniformly signed ‘Trevon’ or ‘Delisle’. He’d even changed his style of signature. Looking at them you’d never know the same man wrote them.” 

“So send your Left Hand after him.” I still couldn’t see why she needed me.

“I cannot. If the Chantry is seen to be anywhere in or near Tevinter it could be disastrous.”

“I thought the point of the Left Hand was they can do things with no one knowing it’s the Chantry behind it.”

She made a disgusted noise. “It is one of those things I cannot talk about. Trust me, they would know. We cannot send _any_ of our usual people after this man — or even any of our more _un_ usual people — but we _must_ either retrieve what he has stolen or neutralize him.”

I stood up and stretched, feeling restless after eating so much. “Mind if I move around a bit? What makes you think stopping Asina will put an end to the threat? It sounds to me like he was probably hired.”

“He is the one who has the damning materials. We know he has not left Tevinter; that much we _can_ do." 

"If he was hired, how do you know the ones who hired him haven't already fetched the items from him and returned to wherever they're based? He wouldn't have had to set foot outside Tevinter at all," I objected.

"We've been monitoring the borders for that possibility," she replied. "Again I cannot go into detail, but no one has passed out of Tevinter with any of our items. So whether he is waiting for word from his masters or perpetrating this himself, he is the key. If he was hired, he is also the one who can tell us who hired him.” She paused, frowning. “And should it prove necessary, removing him is an effective option.”

“I think I’m seeing the direction this is heading."

Cassandra stretched in her chair and put her feet up on my vacated one. “Ugh. I’ll say it anyway. Due to the sensitive nature of the situation, we cannot hire mercenaries to go into Tevinter for us, nor go through any of our normal channels. It is imperative that no one be aware there _is_ a Situation. Then I remembered there is one person who is uniquely suited to do this for us, if he can be persuaded.”

“How am I uniquely suited?” I said curiously. “Aside from the obvious fact that I go to Tevinter a lot.”

“That is, of course, one of the primary points in your favor,” she acknowledged. “No one will bat an eyelash if you go there. You’ve even gained a reputation as something of an expert and a desirable person to hire.”

“ _You’ve_ heard I have a reputation?” _How did I manage to miss that when everyone else seemed to be aware of it?_

She grinned. “Our people are very thorough. It is more than that, though. You’re in a unique position within Tevinter as well. You are able to move through the highest levels of Tevinter society, yet you are also accepted among the common people due to this side business of yours as an outrider. The Altus accept you because they know you’re a powerful mage with powerful connections and the other caravan guards or whatever common people you deal with accept you despite that.” 

I chuckled. “ _Whatever common people_? You sound like as much of a rich kid as I did earlier about the coffee. I know what you mean, though, and you’re right.”

She stood so she could look me in the eyes; I accommodated her by ceasing my pacing. “I wish I could tell you everything so you could understand how potentially devastating this is. If it is made to seem that I have betrayed my position, my family, my country, it is not just me that would be destroyed.”

“I believe you, Cassandra,” I assured her. “I don’t need extra proof.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I will tell you: The main reason I wanted you is very simple. I do not need an underling or someone in my employ for this. I need someone I can trust implicitly. I need a friend.”

I smiled at her. “You’ve got one. I’d be happy to help. I just hope you can give me a little more information to go on than you have thus far. And it would really make it easier if I could ask Dorian about some of this.”

"I believe even my advisors could not object to you simply asking about the Asina family," she allowed.

"Can I tell him about the murders? Wouldn't that alone be enough to send someone after Asina? All he'd need to know is an Altus may have murdered a sister and one of your relatives. I mean, the majority of people _do_ consider cold-blooded murder to be kind of a big deal, especially when the killer's done something perverted to the victims."

She nodded slowly. "You know, in all the excitement that did become secondary in everyone's minds." 

"Within those parameters, your asking me to look into it still makes sense," I pointed out.

"I am sure they'll find some reason to object to my agreeing, but yes. You may certainly present it to him as a straightforward murder investigation; one the Chantry does not want to pursue into Tevinter given the possible identity of the murderer and associated political ramifications," she said, looking pleased.

"Good. I understand the need for secrecy, but I really don't like having to lie to Dorian. Besides, you know as well as I that he'd be absolutely thrilled to take part in investigating a sordid murder — emphasis on _sordid_." I sat back down and Cassandra followed suit. "There is one other thing I need to ask," I said.

"Go ahead. Hopefully I can answer you."

"Did the Chantry also agree I'm entitled to some compensation for my time and effort?"

"Absolutely; I wouldn't expect you to do it for free no matter how good a friend you are. We _are_ asking you to put yourself in danger," she said, then smiled cynically. "Of course, they will also want itemized lists of your expenses."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course."

She poured herself a glass of some sort of juice and looked up with sudden concern. "I'm not taking you away from something important, am I? You do not need to drop everything on my account."

 _Well, someone has been repeatedly trying to do me serious bodily harm because they've got a bug up their arse about my being some sort of traitor…_ I shook my head. "No, nothing that can't wait. There's a few Jenny things going on, but they're not really in my bailiwick. The only potential danger is my nug might be upset that I'm taking off again so soon after getting back."

She gave me a look of wide-eyed horror. "You don’t leave him alone, do you?"

"Of course not. The last few times he stayed with Sera and Dagna. Since this was a short trip, I brought him along, but he can't come to Tevinter with me," and with that the conversation wandered back into the more common sort people have who haven't seen one another for some time.


	16. Of Plots and Pentaghasts

Later, back in my rum, I looked over the papers Cassandra gave me. I'd thought she'd at least stay the night, but she told me with some regret that she needed to return to Val Royeaux as quickly as possible; I got the impression she'd had to very nearly threaten to resign just to get her people to agree to this meeting at all. She stayed as long as she could, but late that afternoon we said our goodbyes and I watched her depart with the taciturn Paul in tow. I could have left then as well, but the rain was still relentless, I knew we'd barely make it out of the woods by dark and Morvan assured me it was no problem if I wished to wait ‘til morning. 

They hadn't managed to dredge up a great deal of information about Asina, and as I read through the documents I got the impression they'd been allowed to find exactly as much as he’d wanted. In the year he'd been at the Grand Cathedral he'd managed to remain nearly invisible: efficient enough at his job that no one questioned anything he did, but not so efficient that he might be in danger of promotion or official recognition. Same with his personal life: he had been friendly — indeed, all his colleagues thought highly of him — but seemed to have kept everyone at arm's length. The only things anyone came up with as unusual about him were he seemed to enjoy spending a great deal of time in the Archives _(the better to steal from them when the time came?)_ and that he had started palling around with Gareth Pentaghast, who was the kind of person "Trevon Delisle" had always held in utter contempt.

On the other hand, Pentaghast had been a veritable cataract of information, most of it laughably inaccurate. He'd been writing a diary (which he loftily referred to as his Journal) and had also penned a stack of unsent letters to a woman name of Corinna back in Nevarra. In both he had bragged about the plot he'd become involved in that would "change the course of Nevarran history". A sample from his diary:

_An awe-spicious day today! Someone has been listening to my ideas for Nevarran reform and that Someone has approched me. We are of Like Minds, and finally someone who wants to do more than just Talk change. His code name is Wolf- we go by code names because this is a Dangerous Risk we are undertaking. He has given me a code name and it is a Proud one ---I am the Druffalo because of my Stedfastness and Power._

I suspect his code name had more to do with his being a bloody great lump that's easily led once you get it prodded in the right direction. "Wolf" had led the idiot on with a smooth combination of small truths couched in large lies all wrapped in a big, shiny package of tell-him-what-he-wants-to-hear. Pentaghast could go places in the Cathedral and elsewhere that Asina couldn't without questions being asked. Asina took advantage of this, giving Pentaghast careful coaching and sending him off to steal many of the documents and items that were causing the Chantry such consternation now, always peppered with other items that he charged Pentaghast with holding for safekeeping. (From his journal: _This is an example of how Wolf is a Great Man and a Loyal Partner--- by splitting the items each time we are taking Equal Risk in the event of Dicovery!!!_ )

I nearly found myself sympathizing with Asina for his sheer discipline in putting up with Pentaghast. The man blathered endlessly about his Plan for the complete overhaul of the Nevarran government: the new power structure he envisioned was two co-rulers (the _Collective_ , don’t ask me why) presided over absolutely by a new official known as the _Truthteller!!_ (sorry, but he always put the exclamation points in). The first _Truthteller!!_ would of course be himself because — with impeccable schoolyard logic — he’d come up with the idea. After skimming through the third such rant (two in the diary, one in a letter to Corinna, who will never know how lucky she is that they remained undelivered), I had to take a break.

I got up off the bed (I’d been sitting on it sideways so I could spread the documents out), eliciting an annoyed squeak from Swivet, who’d cuted his way onto it and promptly fallen asleep. “You’re not even supposed to be up there,” I told him unsympathetically as I stretched. I threw more wood on the fire and finally picked up the first of the three beers I was allowing myself that night, cooling it down with a small ice spell (that village might not know coffee, but they make a passably good beer). I could hear the rain still pounding outside and was doubly glad I’d decided to wait. It was late enough that Dorian would probably be able to talk, so I activated my sending crystal.

For several minutes nothing happened. I'd just about resigned myself to wading through the rest of Pentaghast's blathering when the crystal indicated Dorian had activated his side. "Kai?" he sounded slightly breathless.

"Right here," I answered. "Did I drag you away from something?"

"No, I just got in. I attended a _play_ tonight."

"What sort of a play?"

"It is a comic romp in which, due to an unfortunate mishap, a Laetan family becomes reluctant host to an irascible, overbearing, self-centered Magister who proceeds to turn their lives upside-down in a variety of outrageous ways. It was actually quite good. If it's still playing the next time you're up, I'll take you."

"That'll be sooner than you think," I said.

"You've decided to take my advice and- oh, wait. You talked to Cassandra today, didn't you? Are you allowed to tell me details or do we need to play twenty questions?" His voice sounded oddly muffled.

"What are you _doing_? You sound like you're talking through a sock."

"Sorry, amatus. The theatre insists on at least semi-formal attire. I was removing a few layers of finery that would give you fits if someone suggested you wear it. I, on the other hand, looked grand."

"You always do. Who'd you go with?"

"Maevaris. She's the one that talked me into it."

"I insisted on it," Maevaris' voice rang out, getting louder as she stepped closer to the crystal, "He's been _moping_ ever since you left. Hi, Kai!" 

"Hey, Mae!" I answered, completing our silly rhyming greeting, "Really? _Moping?_ Tell me more."

"Alas, Mae can't give you any _clearly_ exaggerated details because she has things to do and you need to tell me about your meeting," Dorian interjected.

"He's just afraid I'll embarrass him — which I would — but he's sadly right about my having things to do," Mae said. "Come see me when you're here next and I'll tell you _everything_."

"I can't wait," I laughed.

"Say goodnight now, Mae," Dorian said.

"Have fun, boys," she replied. A few moments later I heard the sound of a door closing. "Moping," I repeated.

"I have not been moping.” 

"Like maybe you miss me?" I pressed. _Yes, I was fishing. Give me a break. I was sitting in the middle of nowhere with no one but a sleeping nug for company and it hadn't been a very good week._

"Of course I miss you," he said in just the right tone to make me feel better, "but Mae isn't supposed to go telling you things like that. Next thing you’ll develop an inflated opinion of yourself. And speaking of telling things, are you _ever_ going to tell me what this meeting in your woodland paradise was about? Is she still there? Are you at an inn doing something rustic?"

"Um. Yes, no and no," I said and drank some beer.

"Ass. Please elucidate, and I shan't beg any further no matter how coy you act."

"All right," I relented, "I'm still here in the land of trees and more trees because it decided to rain buckets all day _and_ all night. I'm sure you can understand my wish to avoid torrential downpours if at all possible."

"Storm Coast, Fallow Mire, and at least half a dozen other maker-forsaken pits come to mind. Now I shall probably have soggy nightmares," Dorian commiserated.

"Cass left this afternoon accompanied by a large slab of armored muscle purportedly named Paul. There were probably many shadowy Left Hand watchdogs about as well, but I didn't care to stand in the rain looking for them. But before she left she had many interesting things to say, and I get to tell them to you."

"You do? I must admit I'm surprised, considering how hush-hush your meeting was. However did you get her to agree to that?"

"Pointed out I was going to need to ask you about things anyway, and it's not something that's dangerous for someone in Tevinter to know, just embarrassing to the Chantry. I then reminded her of your devastating charm and good looks, and how that alone should brand you as automatically trustworthy," I said.

"Just the idea that you had to remind her makes me feel slightly bereft. Now talk — what's all the secrecy about?"

"It's all very sordid," I said. "Perhaps I should wait until I get to Tevinter to tell you."

“Kai,” Dorian said sternly, “I love you with every fibre of my being, but at this particular moment you’re getting annoying.”

I smiled, “I’m sorry. I’m just bored and you’re not and I’m pissed off that I’ve got to worry about going home to some bastard mage that wants to bloody flay me alive or something. I didn’t mean to act like a brat.”

“Apology accepted,” he said, “Ready to adult now?”

“Marginally. So get this — I’m coming back to Tevinter to investigate a double murder and _you_ get to help me.”

I gave him an outline of the murders, omitting anything about the thefts and apparent plot to destroy Cass and her family. "It all sounds perfectly grisly," Dorian said gleefully, "and right in the Grand Cathedral? No wonder they don't want anyone finding out. So what can I help you with?"

"They think they've discovered the identity of the murderer — his last name, at any rate — and it looks like he's returned to Tevinter. Is there anything you can dig up about the Asina family?"

"The Asinas? Now I _am_ intrigued. Whyever would they send one of their family down to Val Royeaux to murder a minor Nevarran noble and a Chantry sister?" I knew without a doubt exactly what look he had on his face: a combination of academic interest and sheer delight.

"That's what I'm hoping to find out. I'll be leaving as soon as I get back to Hasmal," I said.

"Going with another caravan?" 

"I don't know. Depends on what's available. I may just go alone to speed things up."

"Remember, amatus, you're not invincible," he chided me.

"I'll be careful. I do know the way and all the good places to stop _and_ all the bad places to avoid now.” 

“ _All_ of them?”

“Well, most of them. Lately it seems I'm safer out there than at home anyway."

"What are you planning on doing about that? I thought you didn't want to leave it festering."

"I don't, but now I have _things_ to do. My enemy'll just have to wait. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll poison themselves with whatever they're constructing to get at me next."

"It's your cheerful sense of optimism that I find so endearing.” 

"I only wish for them what they wish for me," I said piously.

"So I should expect you in what - two weeks?"

"Give or take," I agreed. "Is that enough time to find out everything you ever wanted to know about the Asinas?"

Dorian indicated it was more than enough. We talked a bit longer before saying our goodnights and I went back to the papers Cassandra had given me. I was heartily sick of Gareth Pentaghast, but felt I needed to read the journal through to the end. I skimmed whenever he went into one of his frequent rants about government reform and only paid attention to the bits where he was actually talking about things he'd _done_.

Other than his adventures in thievery for Asina, he did very little. He wrote letters to his girlfriend Corinna (who, on closer inspection, appeared to barely know he existed. She made the mistake of being pleasant to him at a function one night, and he took that to mean she was destined to be his wife), expanded on his ever-more-ridiculous theories, and spent a great deal of time attending whippet races. If he hadn't been dead, I could have cordially killed him after nearly an hour of wading through his drivel. Finally I found a piece at the end that I admit made me chuckle appreciatively and say, "So you meant to kill him all along…" 

From Pentghast's journal:

_Tonight Wolf has something very special planed! He will not tell me the details but promises it will be the most Important thing I have ever done. The Truthteller!! has taken his first steps to a New Gold Dawn! I am to meet him down in the Archives at the big statue of Maferath at presisely 02,20 and discretion is imperative! He seems most Eager._

I bet he was. If I did find Asina I was no longer sure whether I wanted to treat him as an adversary or thank him on behalf of Corinna and the world in general.

The rest of the papers put forth a few theories on where Asina might have gone ( _Minrathous_ ) and who in Nevarra may have hired him ( _an enemy_ ), but I could see they'd been heavily edited. Her people may have relented enough to let Cassandra enlist my help, but they weren't going to make me privy to anything beyond what they'd decided I needed to know.  I finished my third beer, sent Swivet to sleep in his own bed by the fire, and turned in.


	17. Coming Home

The next day dawned chilly but clear, making me feel vindicated in my decision to stay overnight. I wrapped the documents Cassandra had given me in a length of oilskin just to be safe, packed the rest of my gear and retrieved my horse. Swivet was dismayed enough with the still-damp ground that he was quite content to remain in his saddlebag, so at least we wouldn’t have to have another disagreement over his exploratory desires right away. I thanked Morvan and the other villagers for their hospitality (it only then dawned on me that I’d probably usurped someone’s house for two nights) and was on my way while it was still morning.

The trip back to Hasmal was just as uneventful as the journey away had been. We stayed at the same inn overnight and made good time the entire way, even with my stopping more frequently to let Swivet explore. I’d been slightly concerned at first that he might try to run off, but it appeared that he enjoyed my company enough to stay with me; even when he’d wandered out of my line of sight, he returned when I called him. I hoped this trip would make up a bit for my having to leave again so soon.

We made it home late in the evening of the second night after leaving the village. Annoyingly, I felt myself immediately tense as we entered the city; my enemy was out there somewhere, and who knew what they’d been up to the last six days. I went to my house first, keeping an eye out for anything from tripwires to cripple my horse to magical traps, but it appeared my enemy hadn’t opted to go that route. 

I dismounted and dismissed the ward on my front door, then waited. Nothing happened, but that didn’t make me feel much better. It also irked me that my harasser was getting to me, so even when nothing was happening I was worried about something happening. Finally I unloaded my gear and took it inside, lighting my lights with a thought as I scanned both visually and magically. Everything seemed to be just as I’d left it. I hauled Swivet out of his saddlebag and let him run inside, then ‘dinged’ Sera and Dagna to let them know I was home. I pumped some fresh water into Swivet’s dish and left him to do his own check of the house, reinstating the ward on the door before I left to drop off my horse. 

That done, I walked to Sera and Dagna’s, glad for the opportunity to stretch my legs after all the riding. I was mildly surprised to find no one home. The thought crossed my mind that my enemy had done something to them, but I dismissed that as stupid and irritatingly paranoid. As long as I was in the neighborhood, I checked the pub we usually frequented, but they weren’t there either. I bought a beer and asked the bartender for any recent news, but aside from some local gossip there wasn't any so I finished my drink and left. I made my way over to the _Hightown Emporium_ — which was closed at that time of night — and realized I had no idea if Mikal actually lived there. I hadn’t seen what looked like true living quarters, but she could have had an entire suite hidden somewhere in the vast jumble of goods in the back of her shop for all I knew. I hovered out front for a few minutes then headed home. I had to admit Mikal was right: I didn’t feel comfortable attempting to just drop in on her, at least not yet. Maybe when I’d known her a little longer.

I made one last stab at socializing, stopping at the pub near my house to see if Ademar was there, but he too was elsewhere that night. I bought another beer and once again asked the bartender about any news. She confirmed that no one had come back asking after me and repeated the same gossip the bartender in northwest had imparted. I returned home feeling a trifle more relaxed; perhaps my enemy really had needed to regroup after the spectacular _Senex Miseria_ attack. I still kept my wards up after entering my house — I wasn’t _that_ relaxed — but was confident enough to remove the arm and read until it was time to let Dorian know I’d survived my homecoming intact.


	18. Job Interview

"There's a merchant caravan leaving tomorrow..?"

I shook my head. "No. Too slow. Even a fast caravan has to keep to a pace horses hauling heavy wagons can handle. Aren't there any escort jobs?" I was at the stables talking to one of the daughters ( _Mina? Mara?)_ about outrider jobs to Tevinter.

She shook her head. "None that I've heard of. Let me see if anything's come in overnight." She riffled through the stack of papers in front of her as I tried to hide my impatience. It wasn't her fault there didn't seem to be any jobs leaving as quickly as I wanted, or that communication between cities was unreliable at the best of times. _This land could do with a lot less hysteria about the dangers of magic and lot more research into setting up a network of sending crystals_ I thought to myself for the millionth time. I was trying to do the wise thing and not travel solo, but they weren't making it easy.

“Hm. There is one here, but I don’t know if you want to be involved with it,” the daughter said.

“I don’t do slave transport of any kind,” I said.

“I know that,” she smiled. “I’m not sure we’d want to deal with you if you did. This is a prisoner escort. They’re not going all the way to Minrathous, but it would get you close.”

“What sort of prisoner?”

“Doesn’t say.” She showed me the paper. It was tersely worded: _Need one rider for prisoner escort, Hasmal to Marnus Pell. Must have prior experience._ and a time and place of departure. Interested parties were to go to a local inn I knew and ask for Fadik.

I shrugged. “Well, it’s worth looking into. At least they’re leaving day after tomorrow and people transporting prisoners don’t usually like to dawdle.”

“Seems like you’re gone more than you’re here lately,” she said. “Would you still like us to keep an eye on your place? Jasker said someone’s been giving you trouble lately.”

“I’d appreciate that,” I said. "May as well see if these people are my ticket north."

She _(Mona? Melina?)_ waved goodbye as I left for the inn and Fadik.

The inn was in the better part of the northwest district, which gave me some hope that it would be the sort of job I wanted. Northwest suggested they wouldn’t be as stodgily human-centric as many of the merchant caravans, so hopefully not quite so squirrely about mages. The 'better' part suggested they had some coin and were more likely to be serious professionals. I just wanted to get up to Minrathous as quickly as possible and begin my hunt for Asina; I didn’t have time to babysit amateurs.

I entered the common room and asked the innkeeper (who was doubling as bartender for the slow afternoon hours) for Fadik. He pointed to a room off to the side; later that night it would be used for private card games the inn regularly hosted. I thanked him and made my way to my job interview.

Seated at the round table in the center of the room was a Qunari woman. Her grey skin had slight golden undertones and her blue-black horns curved back elegantly, following the lines of her head. Her eyes were deep blue and kind of squinty. She was playing cards in a desultory manner with a pale-skinned elf with dark red, spiky hair. He had a long scar running down his left cheek. The both stopped playing and looked at me blandly as I entered the room. “Fadik?” I asked. The Qunari nodded minimally. “I’m here about the job.”

“You have experience?” Fadik asked, her tone all business.

“Yes.”

“Been to Tevinter?”

“Frequently.” 

“When were you last there?”

“Just under a fortnight ago.”

“Quick turnaround,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Coin’s good,” I said shortly.

She nodded. “What do you do?”

“Mage. Combat and practical. You okay with that?”

She smiled tightly. “I am Tal-Vashoth, mage. I do not share the Qun’s terror of your kind. What sort of combat? I don’t need someone who won the last round robin their Circle put on.”

I smiled back. “You name it, I’ve probably fought it and killed it.”

“Big words,” she said. “Can you back it up?”

“Yes.” 

"What do you mean by practical? Most of your kind don't go in much for that."

"I can light your campfire or an underground passage if you get stuck crawling through one. I can clean the worst of the mud and blood off you in the event there's no way to wash up. I can chill your beer if you're not a fan of drinking it warm. I can ward your campsite so nothing can sneak in unnoticed. I can also do minor healing, though it's not one of my stronger abilities."

"Hunh," Fadik grunted and said to the elf, "A mage that knows the meaning of the word _practical_. Just when I thought I'd seen everything. Can you cook?"

“Passably,” I shrugged. “I’ll never win awards, but you won’t die of food poisoning. Self-taught out of necessity.”

“Where’s your staff?” the elf asked.

“At home. I don’t need one to defend myself in town.”

“Thought most mages never set foot out the door without one.” Fadik looked interested for the first time.

I smiled slightly. “I’m not most mages.”

“What’s your name, human?” she asked.

“Kai Trevelyan.”

Now the elf looked interested. “I’ve heard of you. That is, if you _are_ Trevelyan and not just some mump who shaved his head to use his name.”

I gave a surprised bark of laughter; I hadn’t heard that one before. “Seriously? There are people doing that?”

“Tevinter run’s a lucrative one,” Fadik said.

“So how do I prove to you that I’m me?” I asked them.

The elf looked at me speculatively. His eyes were warm brown with odd amber flecks. “Trevelyan’s missing something. If you are him you’ll know what and you’ll be able to show us.”

I nodded. “Easy enough.” I proffered my left hand to him. “Shake.”

He raised an eyebrow and grasped my hand. I saw his eyes widen slightly and he looked up at me smiling. “Good enough for me. Hell of an illusion. Don’t you get tired of refreshing it? Have a seat.”

“It’s runed; no refreshing required,” I told him as I pulled out a chair and sat. “You have a name?”

“Camren,” he said. “Daggers, close up work and all things stealthy a specialty.”

“Cam. Mind telling me what I missed?” Fadik interjected.

“It’s him. The hand’s not real. Looks real, feels like wood,” Camren explained.

I winked. “Doubles as a staff.”

She laughed loudly. “All right, Trevelyan, you’re in. Your reputation precedes you.”

 _I was really going to have to look into what this reputation of mine was._ “Please, call me Kai.”

She nodded. “Fine by me. Not such a mouthful if we need to get your attention. As Cam said, he’s got the stealthy shit covered and I take care of whatever needs to be flattened, so we can use your talents. You prefer hanging back like most mages or do you do close work?"

"I prefer to keep my distance; it's more effective for most spellcasting. I can handle anything that decides it just has to get in my face, though. You won't have to protect me if that's what you're worried about."

"That's what concerned me," she acknowledged. "We're lacking a distance-hitter, but I've seen too many pansy-arsed mages that panic and fold if the bad guys get too close to their precious hides. I've got no time or inclination to babysit."

"Glad to hear that because neither do I," I replied. She nodded approvingly and I continued, "So what exactly will this job entail?"

"Like the sheet said, this is a prisoner transport.”

“What sort of prisoner and how many?” 

“One moment,” Cam said. “Need to make this official. I’ll get the drinks while you sign the papers. Beer good for you, Kai?”

“Very good,” I said. With a brisk nod he left the room.

"To answer your question, it's just one prisoner, but he's big and ugly enough to count as two." Fadik opened a pouch that had been sitting on the chair near her and pulled out a few sheets of paper. “I assume you read?”

“Incessantly.”

“Then you can look this over. Standard rates with bonuses.”

I glanced up at her. “Plural?”

“Tevinter bonus plus dangerous prisoner transport. Full rate if they get him alive. No bonus if he expires on the way.”

I read through the contract, which was as straightforward as she said. “Huh. Good coin for just one prisoner. What do you do when you hire someone who can’t read? Stick figures?”

She chuckled. “We read it _to_ them and have them scrawl something illegible to acknowledge they agree. Bores most of them silly, but I’ve been burned enough in the past that I want it all in writing now.”

“You’re suddenly much more expressive,” I observed.

“Doesn’t do to appear too friendly when you’re hiring mercs,” she shrugged. “They expect badass, we give ‘em badass.”

“And Fadik’s the baddest ass of all,” Cam said cheerfully as he entered carrying three enormous mugs of beer. I nodded my thanks as he handed me one. "Told the bartender to send any other inquiries packing," he told Fadik.

“So who’s this dangerous prisoner?” I prompted them.

“He’s a loyal Qunari. Ben Hassrath, if you know what that is,” Fadik said.

I nodded. “I have a good friend who used to be Ben Hassrath; he’s Tal-Vashoth now.”

“Good. Saves me a heap of explaining,” she said. “He got caught with two others doing something naughty just outside Tantervale. He was the only one who survived the subsequent conflict. Turns out the Vints want him something awful and no, I don’t know why. We just transport ‘em.”

“The war’s been heating up again significantly this past year. Likely something to do with that,” I said. “You know as a loyal follower of the Qun, he’s going to despise you and me immediately".

She grinned. “Why, so he will.”

"Funny thing — most prisoners aren’t too fond of their captors," Cam drawled.

"Ah, but the Qunari have a special sort of hatred they reserve for mages and Tal-Vashoth. I mention it because he _might_ try to make things especially difficult because of it," I expanded.

"He can try," Fadik said. "He will not succeed."

I stayed a while longer getting to know my new employers; that oversized mug of beer was as much a test as any questions they asked, as was the conversation. I was assessing them as much as they were me and the tacit rules were simple. Personal questions were kept to a minimum at this early stage; many of the people who get into that line of business have murky pasts. Road stories were encouraged: while a certain amount of embellishment is considered acceptable, you can tell pretty quickly who's all talk and who's actually been out in the field. The sorts of stories told are indicators as well: for instance, I stay away from the ones who go on a little too enthusiastically with details of _how_ they went about killing people or how many women they've bedded. Fadik and Cam seemed to be exactly what I was hoping for: smart, practical and professional. I left about two hours after I'd arrived, promising to meet them at the same inn the morning after next.


	19. To Be Forearmed...

Now that I knew when I was leaving, I could plan accordingly. I needed to go to Sera and Dagna's, but the _Emporium_ was closer. I lurked by the books again while Mikal wrapped up several packets of herbs for a customer, then she waved me over with a welcoming smile. "When did you get back?"

"Last night. I came by but then it dawned on me that I don't know where you actually live," I confessed.

"Oh for-" she made a show of smacking herself upside the head, "I'm sorry, Kai. Here I give you a bad time for not wanting to drop in on me and then I don't tell you where _to_ drop. I'm getting scatterbrained in my old age."

"Old age?" I said incredulously, "You can't be that much older than me."

She smiled. "I daresay I've got a good twenty years on you, but thank you for the compliment. You're correct - I don't live in the shop. My house is about twenty minutes' walk south of here."

"That puts you near my neighborhood," I said, then, seeing a terrible coincidence looming, "Please tell me you're not my next door neighbor who's never home."

"I doubt it," she laughed. "I think I'd notice if you lived next door. Not to mention I actually go home most nights." She told me her address and while it was very near my place, it wasn't next door. "I have some things to tell you," she continued, "but I can't get away from the shop right now. Can we meet later?"

Now that I knew where she lived, I suggested the pub that I frequent and she agreed. I let her get back to work and made my way to Sera and Dagna's.

 _"There_ you are! What took you so long?" Dagna practically dragged me into their house.

"I came by last night and no one was home," I protested. "Where were _you_?"

"Sera and Matze were plotting again and Ademar and I were working," she said. "Get your coat off and come into the kitchen." She paused and punctuated the command with one of her patented guileless smiles. "Please."

I tossed my coat on the couch and followed her into the kitchen. Ademar was sitting at the big worktable eating what smelled like some sort of meat pie. "The prodigal cometh at long last," he intoned.

"Prodigal what?" I said.

He shrugged. "No idea, but it sounds good."

"I really don't think I'm particularly prodigal." I pulled a stool up to the table and sat.

"Eh. Everyone's a critic these days. Perhaps I should be squealing with delight that you've deigned to grace us with your presence at long last instead."

"It is _not_ that late and I had things to do," I countered. "I also shan't be gracing you for long. I'm leaving for Tevinter again day after tomorrow."

"You need the coin or your magister that badly?" he said with exaggerated surprise.

" _You're_ the one who just called me prodigal. But no, there's actually something I have to do up there."

"If you're leaving again that soon we need to get moving," Dagna interjected. "Kai, would you unstrap your arm? We've made some progress."

I pushed up my left shirtsleeve and did as she asked. The new arm had been sitting on the table the whole time, but amidst the jumble of parts, tools and equipment I hadn't noticed it until she picked it up. It looked different than the last time I'd seen it. Parts of it seemed to be sheathed in some sort of translucent material that… "Fuck me, are those the runes?" I asked her.

She nodded, her expressive face beaming with excited pride. "We think we've cracked the bonding problem, but I can't be sure until you try it since it's keyed to you. Hopefully. Ready to try?"

"More than ready." I took the arm from her and looked at them both in confusion. "No straps yet? Should I just hold it in place?"

"Go right ahead," Ademar said around a bite of pie.

I gave them both a suspicious look as I picked up the arm then practically jumped out of my seat: when I put the arm close to the stump of mine the thing almost yanked itself out of my hand and snapped snugly onto my arm. "What the _fuck_?" I stared at them both wide-eyed.

They were both grinning madly at me. "My dear, you are not just brilliant, you are _awe-inspiring_ ," Ademar said to Dagna.

"I can't believe it's working," she said. 

"How did you do that?" I couldn't quite tear my eyes away from it. "I mean, yes, magic, but _how_?"

"It's not done yet," Dagna non-answered, "but that's exactly what I was hoping it would do. We're going to need more of your blood to finish."

"Andraste's tits, take it all," I overstated.

"That's hardly necessary, not to mention counterproductive," Ademar chuckled.

"Now that we know that's working, I need you to try some things," Dagna took charge again.

"Anything," I said distantly.

"Try to move the fingers," she instructed.

"How?" 

"Just think about it like you would normally. Well. Maybe not _just_ like you would. You'll probably need to think a little harder about it, at least at first."

I nodded and looked at the arm, thinking hard about the fingers moving. Nothing happened.

"Kai, are you trying to move them or are you just thinking about them moving?" Ademar asked sharply.

"Um. The latter," I admitted. "Wrong approach?"

"You could do the same at your right hand and nothing would happen either, correct?"

"… Yeah. I'm an idiot. Let me try again."

This time I thought more about how it felt to move my hand when it had been there. It wasn’t a difficult reach - I’d had my forearm for thirty-seven years, been without it for just over one. My mind was still half convinced it was there at times. It was just a matter of relaxing but still con-

The front door slammed open and Sera racketed in singing the chorus to a song that was making the rounds of the taverns loudly and off-key. She stopped to shout, “I’m hoooome!” and thudded her way into the kitchen.

“Sera!” Dagna bounced impatiently on her chair, “Kai’s trying his arm. Hush!”

“Oops! Sorry, Kai. Here’s me hushing,” Sera said, perching on a stool next to me. “Has it done anything yet?”

“I only just started trying,” I told her.

“Sera,” Dagna hissed.

“Right. Hushing. Now.” Sera mimed locking her lips with a key.

“Go ahead, Kai,” Dagna prompted.

I tried again. The difficult part was not thinking about thinking about it, if that makes any sense. I tried to focusedly not-think about just flexing my fingers the way you do when your hand’s tired. At first it seemed just as unsuccessful as my first attempt, but then I felt…something. It was such a mild sensation in my left arm that I almost thought I was imagining it and the fingers-

“THEY MOVED!” Sera crowed. “Andraste’s tits on a stick, you did it, Widdle!” She leapt off her stool and swept Dagna into an enthusiastic hug.

“ _We_ did it,” Dagna corrected, indicating Ademar. “And we’re not done yet.” But she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

I heard it all at a remove as I carefully got the fingers to flex again. They didn’t move quickly, and it wasn’t like having my hand back — for one thing, I couldn’t feel anything — but I was making them move, damn it, and that was the most wonderful feeling I’d had in a long time. 

Ademar had taken over Sera’s seat and was watching the hand clinically. “She’s done one hell of a job,” he said to me softly. “Every single bit of those runes had to be inscribed precisely. She’s been sitting there nights with my magnifiers and jeweler’s tools, sweating over them.”

“It’s amazing,” I murmured. I clenched the hand into a loose fist. It was oddly tiring work, but I didn’t want to stop.

He put a hand on my left shoulder and gave me a slight shake. “It’s also unfinished. Give it a rest now. We need to do a few more things to you and to it.”

I reluctantly stopped, unhappily letting Ademar remove the arm with a firm, twisting tug. "Is that how you take it off?" I asked.

"That's how _I_ take it off," he said. "Once we're done, our theory is it should stay in place until you tell it to let go."

"Tell it to, huh?" I said speculatively.

He must have heard something in my voice, because he said sternly, "You _will_ have to take it off occasionally whether you want to or not. Otherwise you could eventually damage the real arm."

I sighed. "There's always a catch."

“I need to make another casting of your arm and put the right materials in this one so it fits correctly and comfortably,” he continued. “Right now it would get bloody uncomfortable after a while. Once Dagna’s completely done with the runes and we’ve ironed out any bugs, then we’ll be able to make it look and feel real.”

“How?” I asked.

“A combination of real materials and runecraft,” Dagna chimed in. “I, um, need more blood from you.”

“Go right ahead,” I said, offering up my right arm. “You know, all the metal and runic material like that looks pretty badass.”

“Yeah, he could be walking about with this _scary_ metal hand,” Sera said, eyes shining.

“There might be occasions when a scary metal hand isn’t the best thing to be walking around with,” Ademar said with a smile. “And more importantly, the ‘skin’ we’ll be putting over it will protect the entire thing just like real skin. Remember, I said it’s _nearly_ indestructible.”

“Best go with realism then,” I said. “Besides, I've done the scary left hand thing and it wasn't as fun as it should have been. Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Dagna said. “I’m going to have to take extra since you’re leaving again.”

“You’re leaving _again_?” Sera demanded.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you after we’re done. Hey, will this hand be, like, some super-strong golem hand?” I asked the others.

"Ooh! That'd be the _best_ ," Sera enthused.

Ademar laughed. "Sorry, but it should be similar to what the original hand could do, though it may _seem_ stronger to you."

"How so?" I asked, then in an aside to Dagna, "I know I said take all my blood, but I didn't really mean it, you know."

"Just about done," she said cheerfully. "You'll still have plenty left."

"It may seem stronger because unlike your real hand, it doesn't have any warning mechanisms in the form of pain or fatigue to let you know to back off," Ademar explained. "Something else you'll need to keep in mind until you get used to it: we haven't found a way to make it possible for you to feel anything, so you won't be able to judge the amount of pressure or force you're applying to something. To put it in practical terms, you may not want to rub your eyes or grab hold of the family jewels with that hand right away; you could inadvertently do some serious damage to yourself."

"Yikes. Duly noted," I said as Dagna released my right arm. I cast a quick healing spell and Dagna wiped off the bit of blood left on my skin with a damp cloth.

"If you're done with all that, what's this about you bloody leaving again?" Sera demanded. "Is it because of that evil wanker that's been coming after you?"

"No. Do you still have coffee?" At Sera's impatient nod I started to strap the arm on.

She jumped off her stool. " _I'll_ make it for you; you'll take forever. Just _talk,_ Herald Inquisitor."

"Well, you know that little trip I just got back from. It was to meet Cass. She wants me to look into something for her in Tevinter, so I told her I would."

"I take it you can't say what," Ademar said.

"Correct, good sir. All I can say is it's something she doesn't want the Chantry involved in - it's more of a personal favor to her. So I signed up as a third rider with a couple of mercs today to transport some big bastard Qunari prisoner up to Marnus Pell. I don't really know how long I'm going to be gone."

Sera looked annoyed. "Why just you? I could go too - I'm just as much a friend as you are."

"Because I already go up there all the time. No one's going to so much as blink if they see me heading back, especially if it's another outrider contract. The whole idea is that no one think there's anything unusual going on."

"Sounds like bollocks to me," Sera grumped as she poured hot water.

"No it doesn't; that's why you're annoyed," I said. "Besides, aren't you busy with Matze on the Jenny thing?"

"It's because Cass only asked you," Dagna said. "If she'd have at least _asked_ , Sera could have said no."

"He knows that. And yeah, we've got that going. Oh!" Sera turned around, suddenly all smiles. "I almost forgot what I was gonna tell you!"

I finished strapping the old arm back on. It felt like what it was: a hunk of wood. I gave it a glare and looked up at Sera. "Something good?"

"Better!" She handed me a coffee and I nodded my thanks. "Remember we were talking about Lord Pissy Wallingford and his horrible ratty little dogs?"

I made a face. "How could I forget? Please tell me someone fed them to something large and hungry that likes to play with its food."

"Well, no, it's not that kind of good. But! _Some_ body took every one of the poisonous little tits and dyed them bright red!" 

I chuckled. "Wallingford must've loved that."

"He's convinced the Friends of Red Jenny did it," Dagna said.

"Yeah, but we didn't," Sera objected.

"There has been a distinctly _red_ theme running through all those pranks," I said. "You don't think someone might be trying to set us up to take the blame?"

Sera shrugged. "They're pretty good pranks and they're harmless; dunno why they'd bother. The city Watch isn't gonna go punching down on anyone for playing silly buggers on a load of rich twats."

"Kind of depends on how angry the rich twats get," I pointed out. "You might want to put the word out that the Jennys have nothing to do with these pranks."

" _Augh._ You all _worry_ too much. _Fine_."  She sat down next to Dagna with a thud. "I'll say something to a few people. But just to shut you lot up. You need us to look after the nugget, Kai?"

"Maybe. I don't like asking you again so soon." I thought I might ask Mikal but wondered if I knew her well enough to impinge on her that way.

"Well, I won't lie that we're kinda busy, but if you need just let us know."

I promised I would, drank the rest of my coffee and, after arranging with Ademar to drop by his shop the next day for the second casting of my arm, took my leave.


	20. Tests

I swung by the stables to let them know when I'd need my horse ready and made it to the pub before Mikal. I ordered a meal along with my beer and took my drink to a table in the back corner of the room. I could see everything from there and no one could come up behind me; something I took into consideration as I wouldn't put it past my enemy to try another version of the poison dart attack.

I had just started eating (a sort of lamb stew and a thick slice of sourdough bread) when Mikal arrived. "You know," I told her as she sat, "I really hate having to eat with my right hand. That and writing. It just feels bloody _wrong_."

"You were left handed?" She took a sip of her drink.

"I _am_ left handed," I corrected a trifle crossly. "I'm just between hands at the moment."

She looked amused. "I'll say one thing for both you and Sera: you're interesting people. A bit odd, but interesting. How was your trip?"

"Mostly uneventful. I met up with an old friend; that part was nice. Swivet had a lovely time," I said between bites. "I have to admit it was a bit of a relief not having to worry someone was going to run up and throw acid in my eyes or something."

"Speaking of that — or would you rather I wait until you're done eating?" I shook my head and she continued, "I got some information back today from some of my contacts in the Marches concerning the dart poison. Some of them are sloppier at record-keeping than others, but I did get a partial list of names that bought some of the more esoteric ingredients." She slid a small piece of paper to me. "Recognize any of these?"

I read them and shook my head. "Not even one."

"Damn. I was hoping for a stroke of good luck. Ah well, I knew it would be too good to be true."

"Thank you for trying," I said. "I guess that means no mage who looked crazed with some private revenge fantasy came into your shop either?"

She chuckled. "No, closest thing to crazed was that awful girl who was there the first time we met. Every time it's the same thing: incessant questions and vast amounts of attitude, but I'm lucky if she spends a few coppers. Hopefully she'll grow out of it eventually, but I don't want to be the one guiding her through the process. Has everything been quiet since you got back? No more attacks?"

"Not so far, but I'm not stupid enough to think they've come to their senses and gone home to knit scarves for homeless ex-Templars. They won't have much time to mount another attack regardless; I'm leaving again morning after tomorrow." 

"Is this because of them?" she asked.

"No. Have some things to do and picked up a contract to do a transport from here to Marnas Pell. I'm not really sure how long it's going to take." 

She finished her drink — it was something clear with a slight green tint to it — and signaled a passing barmaid that she'd like a refill. "You're not taking your nug on a trip that long, are you?"

"Funny you should mention that…" I tried to look wide-eyed and needy. My face doesn't really lend itself to cute, so I had to go for the next best thing.

She laughed. "Maker's breath, could you be any more transparent? You really haven't known me that long; are you sure you could trust me?"

"I was worrying more along the lines of you really haven't known _me_ that long, should I really be asking favours of you," I admitted as I mopped up the last of the stew with the last of the bread. "I'd pay you, of course. I just didn't want to ask Sera and Dagna to take him again so soon after last time. They've both got things going on. Not that you don't. I just…" I trailed off lamely and tried to look diffident.

"Hm." She waited for the barmaid to serve her drink and take my dishes. "Is he housebroken?"

"Box trained, just like a cat. Well, except the box is bigger," I said. "He was quite a bit smaller when I got him. I don't know if that's what I was supposed to do, but he seems happy with it. He was rather displeased that I kept expecting him to go outside on our trip, especially when it was pouring down rain."

"Can't say as I blame him." She drummed her fingers on the table and sipped her drink. "All right. I'll look after your nug. I should warn you I have a cat. Is that going to be a problem?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," I admitted. "I suppose they should meet. If they hate each other I'll ask Sera and Dagna."

We stayed at the pub long enough for me to let the food settle and have one more beer then went to collect Swivet and see whether he got along with cats, or at least Mikal's cat. As we approached my house I slowed to a stop. Mikal gave me a shallow nod and we both scanned the area carefully.

Mikal was the one who spotted it: a long, thin, rectangular piece of what looked like wood affixed just above the front door. It hadn't been there when I'd left earlier. I probed it magically, but couldn’t come up with anything more useful than _yes, there’s some sort of magic associated with it_.

“What do you think? Trigger it or destroy it?” Mikal asked.

“If I try to simply destroy it, you just watch — it’ll blow up my bloody door or something and I just paid a fair bit for that door,” I complained. “Besides, don’t you want to see what the newest one is?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve maiming, I’d love to,” she said. “But don’t you think at this point they’ll be expecting you to throw a shield or whatever you call it up the second it triggers?”

“Barrier spell, but that’s just semantics. And yeah, they probably are expecting it.” I stared at the innocuous-looking object like it was going to give up its secrets.

“Too bad you can’t just, I don’t know, go immaterial for the duration of the attack,” Mikal said.

“Actually, I sort of can,” I said, surprised I hadn’t thought of it myself. “I’ve barely ever used the spell, but it just might do the trick this time.”

“You can dematerialize,” Mikal said flatly.

“Well, not _really_. It’s more like you step a little way into the Veil for a minute so you’re neither really here nor there. It also makes you… well, invulnerable for a few seconds. I never really had much use for it because it’s kind of a pain in the ass to cast and uses up a lot of power. Just let me practice for a minute.” The spell was my own little melding of two others: one that allows you to move a few paces forward using magic to mask yourself and, yes, essentially dematerialize, and another that uses a little piece of the Veil to make you invulnerable for a few moments. I thought of it as the Fade Step spell.

It actually took several minutes — first to remember how to cast the damned thing, then how to cast it correctly so I could also move rather than standing there like the world’s most ineffectual ghost while I tried to keep the spell active for more than a few seconds. Finally I got it to the point where I could cast it and run a good five paces before it gave out; I was hoping that would be enough distance.

The whole time Mikal stood there watching me with an unreadable expression on her face. After my final successful attempt when I declared myself ready, she slowly shook her head. “You know, Kai, at times you can be a really scary guy.”

I hadn’t the slightest idea where that came from; I’d just spent the majority of the last several minutes looking like a bit of an idiot. “What? Why?” I said to her, no doubt looking as baffled as I felt.

She just laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re ready?”

I gave her one last look, trying to fathom what prompted her to say that, then gave up. You just never know what’s going to unsettle people. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said. “This time you really should step back. I’m going to trigger it, shield my door and cast the spell all pretty much at the same time _and_ run like hell, so I’m not going to be able to do much for you.”

“Shield your door?” She moved back several more paces.

“I told you, I just paid to replace the bloody thing.” I buttoned up my coat, popped the collar for extra protection and slowly approached my door. I wasn’t sure what the trigger was going to be; I just had to wait for the telltale magical surge when the spell engaged.  Dropping the ward on the door didn’t do it; this time it was when I put the key in it. In the second before it triggered I managed to do as I planned flawlessly, if I do say so myself. I threw a barrier on the door, cast my spell and ran, having no idea what was happening behind me. When I reached my limit and the spell gave out I spun around and cast a light and a barrier spell over the area in front of my door.

“I think you’re good, Kai. It seems to have done its thing,” Mikal said.

“What did it do?”

She smiled grimly. “A cloud of liquid exploded out of it. Most of it turned into a gas and dissipated, though it looks like some landed on the flagstone in front of the door. Have a look.”

I walked back to my door and looked. “Ha. Acid. I am prescient.”

“And your would-be tormentor is slipping,” she added as she joined me.

“I prefer to think I’m prescient, but aside from it being awfully unoriginal, how are they slipping?”

She pointed at the flagstone. “Look closer.”

Etched in acid was the word **TRATOR** **.**

I smirked. “‘Trator’?”

“Told you — when meticulous planners get angry they start to make mistakes. They undoubtedly didn't anticipate your little road trip this week. Looks like that may have rattled them." 

"Well my next trip should send them right over the edge, then," I said.

"Indeed. Shall we go in and see how your nug’s doing?”

I opened the door and gestured elegantly. “After you, milady.”

Swivet was nowhere to be seen when we walked in. I closed the door and heard a few suspicious thuds from upstairs. A few moments later my nug came down the stairs with a hello trill and a guilty look on his face. I looked down at him sternly. "You were on my bed, weren't you? That's why you didn't even notice the noise just now." He made a noncommittal squeak and turned his attention to Mikal, acting like she was his long-lost best friend.

She crouched down to say hello to him. "I take it he's not allowed on the furniture?"

"I let him get away with the couch, but he's not supposed to be on the bed," I clarified. "C'mon Swivet, let's go meet a cat."

Mikal's house was about a five-minute walk from mine. It looked similar — actually, most of the houses in that section of town look similar — but when we stepped inside it was quite different. She'd decorated it tastefully, but the first thing that caught my eye was, "A mini-crossbow collection?"

She gave me a look that was mostly pride mixed with slight defensiveness. "That's right."

"How many are there here?"

"Thirty-three and counting," she said. "Not one of them the same as any other."

"Impressive." She had devoted one entire wall of her living room to them. "Any particular reason other than you clearly like them?"

"They're clever and practical and as well as appreciating the craftsmanship, I also like shooting them," she said.

"Do you ever let anyone else shoot them?"

"Perhaps, but I'd have to trust them implicitly. As I said, each one is unique and most aren't replaceable. I've used each and every one of them." Her voice had taken on the enthusiastic tones of a true collector.

I smiled. "I seem to recall my mother collected figurines of small children with large eyes. Creepy things. I like these much better." It must have been the right thing to say, because she visibly relaxed.

"Thank you. I may even let you try a few of them someday if you keep saying nice things like that. Now we just have to find Donnen. Donnen! Here, kitty!"

"Donnen?" I grinned, "As in-"

She rolled her eyes at me. "Yes, as in the main character of _Hard in Hightown_. Take off your coat and have a seat, why don't you. _Doonnnnen…"_

As I sat in a nearby armchair, a large black and white cat ambled into the room. He walked up to Mikal, wove around her legs a few times and allowed himself to be petted, completely ignoring everyone else. Swivet, sitting at my feet, looked at the cat curiously for a moment and then ignored him back. It was all very anticlimactic. Mikal and I looked at each other and shrugged. Finally she picked Donnen up and set him in front of Swivet, saying, "Sorry to disturb the two of you, but we need to know if you're going to get along."

They stared at each other. Donnen lifted a front paw tentatively and set it back down. Swivet craned his neck ever-so-slightly and sniffed at the cat. Donnen moved forward slightly and sniffed one of Swivet's ears. The nug squeaked and the cat flinched backwards. Then Donnen took a frantic interest in grooming himself while Swivet apparently felt a similar need to scratch. They spent a few more minutes studiously ignoring one another then another minute of cautious circling before returning to ignoring again. "I get the feeling they could keep this up all night," Mikal said.

"Should we assume this means they get along?" I asked.

"Well… at least they don't seem to hate each other. By the way, what do nugs eat?"

"From what I've found, pretty much everything. I try to make sure and feed him things that seem healthy; so far the only thing I've found that he truly hates is turnips. I'll bring some of his treats for you; he likes raisin-nut cookies."

" _I_ like raisin-nut cookies," she said, " _and_ I hate turnips. We'll get along fine."

"I'll bring cookies for you too," I promised. 

"From the baker down by your place?"

"Of course; she's the best. Are you okay with taking him then? How much should I pay you?"

We settled on a price, final amount to be determined by how long I was gone, and shortly after I headed home. Swivet watched with interest as I flipped the acid-scarred flagstone in front of my door and magicked the dirt off it. I re-warded the door when we got in as I had no plans to go out again and spent the rest of that night being dull and domestic.


	21. To Talk of Many Things

"What's this made of? It's not plaster." I was at Ademar's shop, my left arm encased in a casting material from just above my elbow down. We were waiting for it to harden.

"It's a rubber compound," he explained. "It'll mold to your arm exactly so when I make the casting and do the final adjustments the prosthesis should fit perfectly. The last one was plaster because plaster's cheaper and it was just for gisting."

"I don't suppose it'd be ready tomorrow," I said wistfully.

"Regrettably, no. I sense an increasing degree of impatience," he observed.

"You sense correctly. At least you can relax knowing I won't be able to pester you about it until I get back from this run up north. How much runework does Dagna have left to do?"

"You'd have to ask the lady herself; I can only look on in awe and wonderment at what she does." He sighed, taking my level of wistful and doubling it.

"Ademar. Do you _like_ her? And don't play dumb about what I mean by like." 

He gave me a hard look but answered, "I hold her in highest regard, and to satisfy your adolescent curiosity, were circumstances different I would indeed vigorously pursue a deeper relationship with her."

"How about that…" I couldn't quite keep from grinning.

"I fail to see the humor you're finding in it," Ademar grumped. 

"Oh, I'm not laughing at you; I just didn't see that one coming," I said.

"Is it really so unthinkable given how closely we've been working with one another?" He sighed again. "Ah well, I trust you won't say anything to her. In the absence of a slight reality shift, nothing will ever come of it."

"What in the world does that mean?"

"Oh, you know,” he gestured vaguely. “If, say, you had been female, Sera would quite probably have bestowed her affections upon you, leaving Dagna free to explore other avenues."

"So this is all _my_ fault for inconsiderately being the wrong gender?"

"Merely some pleasant extrapolation, Kai. I don't fault you in the slightest."

I shook my head. "Ademar, you are a very strange man."

He merely chuckled and checked the clock.

“Besides, I’d make a dreadful-looking woman,” I objected since I didn’t have anything else to do.

“My extrapolation took that into account and shifted your appearance accordingly.” He smiled benignly at me.

“So why pick on me? Why not just make yourself a woman?”

“Because Sera had to be removed from the equation and she thinks highly of you.”

“Ah.” I thought about it for a minute. “Then why not simply shift your reality so Dagna’s interested in men?”

He blinked at me, looking surprised, checked the clock and poked at the casting material. “This is ready.” He picked up a small hammer and chisel and began carefully chipping open the seam he’d put into it. “You know, you’re right. I have a bad habit of overcomplicating. Still, it was an interesting thought experiment.”

“Only you would turn a daydream into a thought experiment,” I said. “But if that’s the sort of mental gymnastics required to construct things like the arm, then experiment away.” I watched him carefully remove the cast and took the damp cloth he handed me to clean off any trace bits that may have stuck to my skin. “So you think it’ll be ready by the time I get back?” I asked even though I knew I was pestering him.

“More than likely,” he said placidly. “We may have to do some tweaking once we test it on you.”

“Tweaking I’m good with. So once it's attached it'll bend properly with my elbow? I mean, just because there's not that much arm below there…" 

Ademar frowned at me. "Of course it will. Do you suddenly take me for an amateur?"

 _Oops._ "Sorry, I know that was a stupid question. I'm just fretting. Is there anything else you need from me before I go?”

He set the mold into a frame; he’d use it to cast a replica of my arm that he’d then shape the prosthesis to. “Now that you mention it, while some people find it gauche to broach such subjects, all these fine and exotic materials are quite costly and we will need to acquire more of them, not to mention manipulate them correctly.” He smiled as he looked at me expectantly.

“Of course. How much do I owe you?” He showed me the current bill, which did indeed reflect the cost of high-quality exotic materials and revolutionary craftsmanship. I gave a low whistle. “Good thing these Tevinter jobs are lucrative. Not that I’m hurting for coin, but still…” I looked up from the paper, “It’s worth every copper. Just let me go to my bank and I’ll give you the full amount.”

He nodded. “It’s that attitude that makes it possible for us to be friends as well as business associates.”

I strapped on the old arm and pulled my overshirt and coat back on. “That and the fact that it bedevils you that you can’t beat me at Wicked Grace.”

“Faugh! Off with you!” he waved me toward the door with mock rage. I saluted him and left for the bank.

The rest of the day was spent in a blur of preparation. I paid Ademar, laid in all the travelling supplies I’d not replaced after my last trip north, visited the stables to ensure my horse and gear would be ready for the morning, got my favourite boots re-soled and arranged with my tailor for some new clothes to be picked up when I returned (outrider jobs can be hard on one’s wardrobe). I stayed on my guard in case my enemy was frustrated enough to try something in public, but happily nothing happened. 

That evening I had dinner with Sera and Dagna. Matze was there as well, and most of the talk revolved around their plans to avenge the slaughter of his clan. I listened with interest, but as I've said, that sort of thing really isn't in my area of expertise, so I mostly kept quiet. One thing I did ask him was why he decided to come to the Friends of Red Jenny rather than join Solas/Fen'Harel and his all-elf plan to return to the good old days. 

He smiled slightly and said, "Those are _his_ good old days, not mine, and from all I've been able to learn, they were so good that he had to lead a rebellion against his own peers, set up networks for freed and runaway slaves of other elves and finally create the Veil to put a stop to the destruction. I'm sorry, but with that history, there's only so much fantasy-generated nostalgia one can indulge in before realizing that it sounds just as bad if not worse than what we have now. At least with this world, I know what the rules are. I _don't_ know what Fen'Harel's rules will be if he succeeds."

"And he's got a stick up his arse bigger than the staff he carries around," Sera added.

"From what Sera tells me, if you hadn't inadvertently interfered, he would already have destroyed this world, yes?" Matze asked me.

I nodded. "That was his plan. Get Corypheus to kill himself triggering his bloody orb, then he'd tear down the Veil and destroy our world to bring his own back."

"Doesn't sound to me like he has the best interests of his own people at heart. He never consulted any elf I've heard of to find out if that was what _we_ wanted. I'd say that should speak volumes about what to expect once he gets his way. After all, _he's_ the god with all the answers." Matze shook his head. "I don't see trading one master for another as a desirable goal."

"Oh, it was wonderful," Sera said in a remarkably spot on imitation of Solas, "a debate over which direction to hang the curtain tassels could go on for a hundred years. _Bleagh_!"

"It's nice to know not all elves buy into what's he's selling," I said. 

"If you stop to look critically at it, it's as much dreamy nonsense as the stories we Dalish have told each other for centuries," Matze said. "But most don't. They just hear that _we'll_ be running everything and we'll all be magic and immortal. I'm sure many of them are imagining the stables of human slaves they'll have to order about and mistreat at will. It's unfortunate but hardly surprising. But as there is nothing I can do about Fen'Harel at the moment, I would see justice done to those who used my clan as a convenient scapegoat for their own wrongdoings."

"If you need any extra help…" I half-offered.

"Nah, we got this covered," Sera grinned. "Besides, you've got your own problems."

"Have you found out anything about that slimebag who's been attacking you?" Dagna asked.

I told them about the acid attack last night.

"You seem awfully calm about it," Matze said.

I shrugged. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning and Swivet's going to be safe at Mikal's. You all know to keep your guard up in case they decide to go after you. If I panic I'm just doing what they'd like. With any luck, the next trap they try to make will blow up in their face and I'll come home to you telling me stories about the strangely mutilated corpse they found."

It seemed like no time at all until I had to say my goodbyes and head home to get some sleep. Nothing attacked me on the way or when I entered my house, so I was able to relax enough to play with Swivet for a bit and contact Dorian for at least a short conversation before turning in.

The next morning I hauled myself out of bed long before I normally would, medicating myself with as much coffee as I could quickly drink. Between the unnaturally early hour and the pile of gear in the living room, Swivet was well aware that I was up to something. He was all over the place, getting underfoot and squeaking at me agitatedly, which made me feel like a complete asshole because I was leaving so soon after getting back from a trip that must have seemed like an eternity to him. I talked to him calmly while I was strengthening the hardening spells on my coat again (I'm rather obsessive about that), explaining why I needed to go, but I don't think he was buying it. Finally I re-checked my gear, refreshed all the wards on the house, added a magical trap to the interior of my chimney just in case, made sure my sending crystal was safely in its case in a secure pocket of my coat and picked up Swivet's bowls and toys, all of which went into a canvas bag. "Ready to go?" I asked him.

He stood on his hind legs and squeaked up at me. "You'll have fun; you'll see," I told him as we exited the house. I locked it securely and, with Swivet practically glued to my heels, went to the baker's first to buy cookies and a few other items. The baker expressed her surprise at seeing me so early as she bagged my purchases. She gave Swivet some sort of honey treat that he clearly thought was heavenly (so I bought a few extra for him) and threw in an extra of the chocolate pastries I like free of charge.

"She thinks I have pretty eyes," I told Swivet as we walked to Mikal's. He trilled agreeably, sated enough by his treat that he momentarily forgot to be upset with me.

Mikal was up and waiting for us when I got there. I handed her two boxes from the bakery — one for Swivet and one for her — and Swivet's bag. A short conversation later it was time to say goodbye to my nug. He knew damn well what was going on and he wasn't happy with me. I got down on my knees and talked to him for a few minutes, saying all the nonsense one says to pets, and gave him a scratch in the spot he likes between his ears. He finally nuzzled me and trilled sadly, somehow managing to nail a bereft look as I stood up. Mikal smiled at his artful manipulation of me ( _Still think I'm scary? I asked her_ ) and promised she'd take good care of him. We talked a few more minutes, and I said my goodbyes to her as well. I made a quick swing by my house to grab all my gear, warded the place ( _again_ ) to a fare-thee-well, and made my way to the inn and my new employers.


	22. The Road to Minrathous

**==#==**

_ Part Two: the Road to Minrathous _

"On time, even," Fadik said with exaggerated surprise. "I am impressed."

"You should be," I said. "I am not a morning person by nature."

"So, you want to meet the bundle of happiness that we're going to be transporting?"

"I'm all aflutter; spent the whole morning trying to decide what to wear."

"No matter what, I'm sure he'd disapprove," Cam said.

"He's round the back, all ready to go," Fadik said, leading the way. "Bit of a pain having to use a cage cart, but even if you could get the big ox on a horse he'd probably try to kill it just to be contrary."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Isn't ox usually an insult to _all_ Qunari?"

She chuckled. "Not if I say it. Besides, he looks like one: Another big, bad Ben Hassrath bastard."

At the back of the inn was a wide courtyard flanked by stables on one side, a bathhouse on the other. Parked near the stables side was a cage cart — literally a cage on wheels. I’d seen scores of them during my time with the Inquisition, usually crammed with poor sods the bad guys were going to infest with red lyrium. This cage had a single occupant.

He was a big bastard, all right. Not as big as The Iron Bull, but close. His skin was dark grey and his horns were relatively small and stubby, looking out of place on his head. He looked down at us with thinly veiled contempt (though that seemed to be his default expression). "Ben Hassrath, eh?" I said to him, "What do we call you? Hissrad? Tallis?"

"You call me nothing, _Basra_ ," he growled, his accent thick, the words precisely pronounced.

I looked at Fadik and shrugged. " _Maras imekari_ ," I said to her, indicating our prisoner with a quick nod in his direction. She laughed and we walked away from him.

Once we were out of earshot, Cam said impatiently, "What was that all about? What'd you call him; because it definitely pissed him off."

"He insulted Kai, so Kai insulted him back," Fadik chuckled.

"If I remember correctly, I called him a child bleating without meaning," I explained. "I also used up about half of the total Qunlat I know."

"I'm surprised you know _any_ Qunlat; it's not an easy language," Fadik said.

"I've forgotten most of what I did know," I admitted. "Haven't had much opportunity to keep up with it. The only other full phrase I remember didn't seem appropriate."

"And that would be?" Fadik prompted.

" _Taarsidath-an halsaam_."

Fadik roared with laughter as Cam said, "Translation, please."

" _I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect_ ," I said. Some things you just never forget.

"Do I even _want_ to know under what circumstances you learned that phrase?"

I just laughed and left it at that. No need to let them know too much about me too quickly. There was a lot of road to cover ahead with a lot of forced togetherness.

I led my horse around to the back and we finished loading our gear. As well as our mounts, we had a draft horse for the cage cart and a pack horse that could spell the other horse on the cart. That was one of the reasons we went armed: there were plenty of people who’d cheerfully kill our little party for the horses alone.

Cam looked over the gear I’d brought appraisingly. “Whadda you know, he brought a staff. I guess that means you really _are_ a mage.”

I’d brought the staff I was most fond of from my Inquisition days — it had little dragons at the top. “I’ve gotten out of the habit, but there are places in Tevinter we’ll get treated much better if I’m carrying that,” I said.

“Out of the habit? You _do_ still do magic, don’t you?” Fadik said sharply. “If we hadn’t already heard of you, we would have demanded a demonstration. Don’t tell me I made a mistake.”

“You didn’t make a mistake,” I assured her. “I’m not bragging — I really am one of the more powerful mages you’re ever going to meet. I can demonstrate if you wish. I just meant I’ve gotten out of the habit of carrying a bloody great staff. They’re like umbrellas. When you’re not actually using one, it’s just a pain in the arse to carry around.”

That made her chuckle. “That I can relate to. Lot of two-handed weapons are an equal pain. I _would_ like that demonstration once we’re away from populated areas, though. Just for my own peace of mind.”

“Not a problem. Just say the word.” 

She disappeared into the inn, presumably to settle up their bill, and came back out carrying two casks of beer. “Hope you meant it about being able to chill this stuff because I can’t abide warm beer,” she said cheerfully.

Cam swarmed up to the top of the cage cart, lashing the casks there once Fadik handed them up to him. I stood to one side in case they needed my help and caught the prisoner glaring at me.

“ _Bas saarebas,_ ” he spit quietly.

“Yeah, I’m foreign and dangerous,” I replied calmly. “Upset that you talked to a mage without knowing it? You’d better get used to it, because we’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

He growled low in his throat and deliberately turned away from me. I was not heartbroken. ****  
  
Finally everything was as ready as it ever would be and we got underway. For the third time in less than a week I found myself travelling through the glorious cabbage fields south of Hasmal. It wasn't a sight that improved with repetition. It may seem counterproductive that we were travelling south when Tevinter is north of Hasmal, but we needed to get to the Imperial Highway, and the fastest way to accomplish that was via the Minanter River. No one talked much during that first leg of the trip; to me it felt like a preparatory phase before the _real_ journey and I spent most of the ride to the river in a semi-doze. Fadik and Cam looked to have fallen into the same soporific state that I was in, and our prisoner flat out fell asleep.

There's a small community at the river that sprung up around the barge and ferry traffic to and from Hasmal. We ate lunch there and set out to book passage on one of the barges heading upriver. The first few we tried couldn't take us because our party was too large, and even though the captain didn't say so, I was sure the third one turned us down because she saw two Qunari and one elf too many for her tastes. The fourth barge was laying over an extra day as they loaded goods from Hasmal and I was beginning to envision having to hang around waiting for days when we'd barely gotten started. 

Happily, the fifth we approached was agreeable. We'd be disembarking before they needed the space we took up, at a spot some hours west just before the river took a turn to the south. From there we'd head overland to the Highway. It was a bit inconvenient, but better than the road north of Hasmal, which was spottily maintained at best. The Fereldan captain overcharged us, but we were on the water by early evening. He even let us lock the Ben Hassrath in the hold for the duration of the trip. The rest of us sat on deck and tried to stay out of the way, busying ourselves with desultory games of cards as we watched the scenery slip by more slowly than we liked. After a while even that entertainment paled, so we made ourselves as comfortable as possible and got some sleep; it was likely to be the last time we could do so without someone having to be on watch. The captain and his crew had done this run so frequently that they planned to travel throughout the night, using powerful lanterns for sufficient light to watch for unexpected obstacles, so we'd be making progress whether we were awake or not.


	23. Getting to Know You

It was still full dark when the barge slowed to a halt. We all awoke immediately, Fadik saying, "Something wrong?"

The first mate stood in front of us holding a lantern. "Beg pardon, but this is where you said you wanted to get off," he told us. "We'd've waited for dawn, but the captain needs to make Nevarra City and we got no extra time to play with."

"How long is it until dawn?" Fadik asked.

"Couple hours, give or take," he replied. 

She nodded. "That's fine. Give him our thanks." It didn't take long to get organized and transfer our prisoner back into his cage. Some crew members lowered the gangplank; we only had to go through a short, shallow bit of river before we reached the shore. The one lantern Cam lit hung off the cage cart, its small circle of light making the dark around us seem oppressive. Fadik eyed me appraisingly. "All right, Trevelyan, consider this part one of your field demonstration. We need light."

"As you wish," I said and cast. I made the light a bit less white and bright than I had for Mikal, but set it to cover more area, particularly that just ahead of us. Fadik nodded, satisfied. Cam murmured, "Not bad." The Ben Hassrath, of course, glared at me. 

We set off through the night towards the Imperial Highway. Though we were still in a relatively settled and peaceful area, everyone was on their guard; even if no people attacked us, there was always wildlife to consider. At first the path we took was overgrown and uneven (our prisoner took the bumping and thudding stoically even though I'm sure he got a few bruises), but the mate had shown us a map and it wasn't long before the path met a somewhat more substantial road that the cart could handle easily. Then it was just a matter of following it to the Highway.

Shortly after sunrise we stopped to eat and stretch our legs. It was here that I pulled out the third box I'd purchased at the bakery, presenting Fadik and Cam with assorted fresh pastries. It's been my experience that it never hurts to get on the good side of your travelling companions early on, and pastries get a nearly universal positive reaction. It was no exception this time; Fadik in particular seemed delighted. I made some camp coffee to go with them (in other words, the coffee went straight into the pot of hot water rather than through any sort of gadget; it tasted okay, but one had to remember not to drink the last swallow at the bottom of the cup) and felt almost civilized.

We were packing up to continue on when, “I need to relieve myself,” our prisoner said loudly.

We all looked at each other.

“I’m not touching his junk,” Cam said immediately.

“Don’t look at _me_ ,” Fadik said, “I’m Tal-Vashoth. He’d probably explode before he let me anywhere near him.”

“He’s not much more enamoured of me,” I sighed, “but all right. I _can_ control him without having to touch him.”

"You sure about that?" Cam said skeptically, looking from me to the Qunari and clearly measuring the disparity in our sizes.

"Of course," I replied.

"Then consider this part two of your field test," Fadik said with a slight smirk.

And that’s how I got the glorious job of taking our Ben Hassrath out for walkies the entire trip.

That first time I had to set the rules. He was determined to make it as difficult as possible and I was determined not to let him. 

When I approached his cage he gave me one of his patented _I despise you_ looks and said, "I do not wish you to tend to me."

"Would you rather the Tal-Vashoth deal with you?" 

"I wish the elf."

"Wish all you want; the elf doesn't want to tend to you. Nor do I, for that matter, but as I'm best qualified, we're stuck with each other. You'll just have to deal with it."

I slapped a binding spell on him and unlocked his cage, telling him, “I’ve given you limited movement so we can get this done. You try to stand there and go in the cage, you’ll be sitting in it because none of us are going to bloody clean you up; I’ll just throw another shield around your cage so none of us has to smell you. Understand?”

He gave a low growl, but shuffled out of the cage. We walked far enough away for propriety and hygienic requirements to be satisfied. “I’ve eased the binding up enough on your hands and arms for you to do what you need,” I told him. “Don’t think that somehow means you’re suddenly going to be able to overpower me. Go ahead.”

He glared daggers at me and made no move.

“Now what?” I demanded.

“I cannot do this with you watching,” he grumbled.

“Fine, I wasn’t eager to watch anyway.” I walked a few paces away and turned my back to him. “There. Happy? I’ll tell you again not to try anything.”

I waited, and sure enough I felt him straining against the binding spell. I refreshed it and clamped down hard on him. “Try that again and you can bloody well piss all over yourself,” I told him and eased the binding back off.

He growled low in his throat, but this time he behaved. I got him back in his cage without incident and rejoined the others. "Well, I'll be buggered," Cam said smiling, "you _can_ control him."

"He wanted you, you know," I told him.

He made a face and shuddered theatrically. "I'd sooner give you an extra percentage to continue tending to him."

I raised my eyebrows and grinned. "I'll hold you to that."

We set out with everyone in a much better mood as the day continued to warm. It was only a few more hours, during which we made the sort of light conversation people do when they’re getting to know each other, until we reached the Imperial Highway. Fortunately it didn’t look terribly busy; all we had to do was travel alongside it until we reached one of the points where someone long ago had constructed ramps so merchants and other travellers could get their wagons on and off the Highway more easily. To my mind, getting on the Highway marked the real start of the journey.

There is one other reason we went all the way to the Imperial Highway when Tevinter is literally just north of Hasmal: the small matter of the Silent Plains. Bear with me: I need to give a brief history lesson for this to make sense. See, approximately forever ago during the First Blight (which lasted two hundred years), the Silent Plains were the site of a massive, final battle that ended with the Archdemon Dumat dead. One side effect of that battle was that entire chunk of countryside became permanently blighted. If the poets and bardic types had been in charge of naming it, the place would undoubtedly be called The Blasted Lands or The Shattered Heath or something equally baleful. Instead they became the Silent Plains, and for a very long time, from what I've read, the area was dead — just black rock and dust and ruins.

The Silent Plains today aren't exactly dead, but they're not the sort of place you want to take your holidays either. It's still mostly rock and dust and ruins, but things grow there; plants and trees stunted and twisted by the blighted land. If you plan on crossing, you need to bring your own food and water, because very little there is safe to consume even now. In addition, it's simply an uncomfortable place to be. There's an odd, oppressive atmosphere to the land. At the edges it's just unpleasant, but apparently the deeper towards the centre of the area you go, the creepier it gets. Weather gets strange and your vision plays tricks on you. And there are tales of _things_ out there stalking the blighted land and living deep inside the ruins; things people have only seen from a distance that look subtly, horribly _wrong_. Undoubtedly most of these stories are made up out of whole cloth to scare people, or a result of imagination coupled with the atmosphere of the place, but it's still best avoided if possible.

The Imperial Highway goes straight through the Silent Plains, but the Highway is well maintained and many centuries of work have gone into reclaiming the land to either side of it. It boasts the only normal vegetation and potable water for many leagues around it, as well as a mostly unspoken agreement that it's neutral territory. Those who take a stab at banditry are put down hard and fast; it's far too important a trade conduit. Most upstart raiders and the like quickly discover the Silent Plains aren't the ideal hideout they'd imagined anyway and tend to move on to more hospitable areas.

So the first part of the Tevinter run is always that stretch of the Imperial Highway (unless you're interested in the eastern approach over by the Antivan border, but since my business has always ended up in Minrathous in the northwest, I've never tried that route). 

Our first day on the Highway went by uneventfully and we made good time. We saw other travelers from time to time: a merchant caravan heading back to Nevarra loaded down with goods; a small squad of soldiers that looked at us suspiciously but kept on going; and a group of hard-looking men leading a small, sorry-looking string of slaves bound for the crossroads market more than likely. They gave us a much closer look until Fadik made a show of inspecting her greatsword, Cam readied his daggers and I let a burgeoning lightning spell play around my hands. They quickly backed off and let some distance build between us and them.

"Damn slavers," Cam spat, "Should've done the world a favor and killed every last one of them."

"And then what?" I asked him.

"We let the slaves go free, of course."

"Here in the middle of nowhere?"

"It's not that far to Nevarra," he protested.

"On horseback," Fadik said. "On foot? With no supplies? _We_ don't have time to escort them back."

"Not to mention the authorities frown on people battling on the Highway for obvious reasons," I added.

"So you're both fine with that?" Can demanded.

"No. But we're practical. You kill one set of slavers there'll just be another one to take their place. You have to decide when and where it makes sense to do something about it," I said.

"For instance, if those fools had decided to try to add us to their inventory," Fadik said. "Then we would eliminate them with extreme prejudice."

"Then you'd still have the problem of the freed slaves."

"And we'd still have to leave them in the middle of nowhere," I said. "Tevinter's a big place; you simply can't kill all the slavers."

"So we just let it go," Cam said unhappily.

"For the most part," I agreed. "It's a shite thing to have to do, but it's necessary."

He shook his head and lapsed into silence for quite a while after that.


	24. Distant Assassins; Traveling with Ben

As darkness drew close, we started keeping an eye out for a good campsite; even if we felt like pressing on, the horses needed to rest. Fortunately, the Highway has camping areas at regular intervals — a necessity for the slow-moving merchant caravans, which could otherwise gum up traffic terribly if they had to overnight on the highway itself. We left the road at an untenanted one and went through the tedious routine of setting up for the night. We all tended to the horses, then I dealt with our prisoner while Fadik and Cam set up the rest of our camp.

He gave me a glare as I approached, but it wasn't nearly as energetic as his earlier ones. "I'm going to let you out of the cage," I told him. "We'll chain you to the outside. You can still go back in to sleep. No one will be getting close enough that you can execute some fancy move where you use the slack of the chain to brain us, and the perimeter will be warded, but you'll be able to move about a bit."

He said nothing, so I threw a binding spell on him then went about the business of setting up the chains so he'd be able to exit the cage. Once I'd left the cage myself and moved past the perimeter he could reach, I released the spell and started setting wards. I heard the chains clanking as he stood and looked back at him. He stretched and grunted as he moved a bit creakily, gave me an unreadable look and said, "Why?"

I finished setting the last ward. "You mean why am I going to all this trouble to let you out of the cage?"

He gave a vaguely affirmative grunt.

"Because I'm not an asshole," I said and walked back to the others.

 It was full dark by the time we finished making food. I delivered a plate to our Ben Hassrath and was finally able to relax. It turned out this was Cam's first time in Tevinter, so Fadik and I spent a fair bit of the conversation disabusing him of the notions he had courtesy of all the inflammatory stories told in the south. We'd started the day so early that it wasn't long before everyone was yawning and we all decided sleep was more desirable than camaraderie. I offered to take first watch and the others were content to let me. I set myself up where I had a reasonably good view of the area and sipped at a cup of coffee. The waxing moon shone eerily over our campsite. Off in the distance the moonlight was doing strange things over the Silent Plains. I'd grown used to the phenomenon, but it never stopped being interesting.

After what I judged to be about an hour, I removed my sending crystal from its case and activated it. Dorian answered almost immediately. “Amatus, you’re early. Or perhaps you’re very, very late.”

“Sorry I couldn’t call you last night — I was sleeping on the deck of a river barge.”

“And then you wonder why I accused you of being rugged,” he teased. “Where are you now?”

“Somewhere along the Imperial Highway in the middle of the Silent Plains, which are living up to their name tonight. I volunteered to take first watch.”

“How altruistic of you.”

“Not really. I wanted to talk to you and by taking first watch I get to sleep through the rest of the night uninterrupted.”

“Ah, enlightened self-interest. That’s much more sensible. You’ve had no problems, then?”

“I’m tired because we were up two hours before dawn and my left arm is exceedingly unhappy with me for keeping this thing on so long, but other than that it’s been smooth so far. Our prisoner’s a Qunari Ben Hassrath and he’s just as much fun as you’d expect him to be.” Talking about my arm made me overly aware of it and just how uncomfortable the straps for the prosthesis were getting. “How are _you_ doing?”

He sighed. “Truth, Kai? I’m worried.”

“What about?”

“You remember Marius? He’s one of the Lucerni? You met him a few times this last visit.”

I thought about it. “Big guy with a beard? Looks more like he should be unloading ships than casting spells?”

Dorian chuckled. “Yes, that’s him. Someone made a serious attempt on his life tonight and they almost succeeded. On the one hand that means we’re actually beginning to make an impact, but if someone’s starting assassination games again…” he trailed off.

“Fuck me,” I swore, “I hope you’re taking extra precautions. Is Marius okay?”

“Very shaken up, but otherwise intact. What worries me is Marius is one of our most level-headed people, and if they nearly got to him… Well, some of our members have more enthusiasm than sense. If they start picking them off, it could cripple the Lucerni and everything we’re trying to accomplish.”

“Hopefully whatever modicum of sense they possess is enough to understand _assassination is very bad for you_ and take precautions. Have you talked to them?”

“Those that Mae or I haven’t spoken with have been informed, yes. Fortunately everyone in the Lucerni likes and respects Marius — that is, if one of them doesn’t turn out to be the assassin — so that may make them pay more heed to the warning than they would otherwise.”

"No clue who gave the orders, I assume."

"Of course not," Dorian said.

“You must be worried,” I said gravely. “You’ve gone a good five minutes or more without one witticism or moment of inspired snark.”

“Honestly, Kai, that's all you've gotten from this conversation? Sometimes I worry about you." 

"It's your own fault for spending so much time being clever," I retorted. "So is this just business as usual or do you think there's something more to it?"

“I can't say for sure. I wish you were here already so you could _see_ what's going on, but it’s good to talk with you. Heh. This is where I ironically remind us both that I thought you would interfere.”

"Actually, you said I'd take over and do it all myself," I couldn't resist pointing out.

"Semantics. My point is you haven't and I appreciate being able discuss these things with you. I think you and Mae are the only people I know who don't have at least one other hidden agenda at all times."

“Help is my middle name.”

“No it’s not, it’s- wait a moment. What _is_ your middle name? All these years and you’ve never told me.”

“A boy’s got to have _some_ secrets,” I non-answered. 

“We will return to that discussion,” Dorian said darkly. “But for now, how long do you think it’ll take you to get here?”

“I wish I could say. A week at least.” I sighed. “I will get there as soon as I can. In the meantime you and Mae and everyone else be fucking careful. And now _I’m_ going to insist we talk every night — I need to know you’re okay.” 

“Well, I suppose it’s only fair that you get to insist when it’s me under threat of death,” Dorian said.

“Above all you’re not to get yourself killed — I shall be very cross if you do. Then I shall be forced to cause some sort of international incident in the process of exacting revenge. It would all be needlessly ugly.”

He laughed. “It would almost be worth faking my death just to see that.”

We talked until it was time for me to wake Fadik for second watch. I reluctantly said goodbye and secured the sending crystal back in its case, woke Fadik and crawled into my own tent. I finally took off my coat and overshirt and removed the blasted prosthesis. Sure enough, my skin looked irritated from wearing it too long and everything itched. I tried not to scratch it too much and lay down. I was asleep within minutes and doubt that anything short of a full-blown raid would have awakened me.

**=#=**

 I woke slightly after the others the next morning, but not so late that anyone had reason to complain. Cam was cooking something that actually smelled relatively appetizing while Fadik dealt with the horses. Once I'd taken care of necessities, splashed some water in my face and decided I could go one more day without shaving, I liberated some coffee from the supplies and joined Cam at the fire. "Quiet night?" I asked him as I got water heating.

"Very. Heard Ben clinking about from time to time, but that's it."

"Ben?"

He shrugged. "As in Ben Hassrath. I'm tired of calling him that or 'the prisoner', so: Ben."

"Sounds good to me. If he doesn't like it, it's his own fault."

"Isn't that food ready yet?" Fadik bellowed as she joined us. She sat down on a smooth rock she'd dragged up to the fire the night before, looking at me curiously. "You really _are_ missing half your arm; I almost didn't believe it," she said. "Who made the rune for that thing you wear?"

"A friend in Hasmal who's absolutely brilliant at runecrafting," I said. "Unfortunately, I wore it too long and slept with it on on the barge and now everything's irritated."

Cam handed a plate to Fadik and spooned more of his concoction onto another. "Why don't you just use a healing spell on it?"

I shook my head. "I can just as easily not wear the arm for a while. Is that one for Ben? Keep an eye on my coffee while I give it to him, would you?"

Plate in hand, I walked over to the cage cart. Ben was doing some sort of slow-motion exercise routine that was undoubtedly endorsed by the Qun; there was probably an entire instruction book on approved activities while being held captive. "Breakfast," I said loudly and threw a barrier spell around myself before stepping through my ward to set his plate where he could reach it. He regarded it suspiciously.

I stepped back through the ward and dismissed the barrier. "I don't know what it is either," I told him. "The elf cooked it. You take your chances along with everyone else."

He sat down and looked at me. "You are maimed."

"Nice of you to notice," I said. "Unlike the maiming you do to your mages, however, I'm still able to carry on these scintillating conversations with you. I'll be back for your plate." I left him and went back to the fire.

Once we'd finished eating we tore down our camp. I left readying the horses to Fadik and Cam as I had to get Ben back in his cage. He watched impassively as I banished the wards. "All right, Ben, binding spell time," I told him as I threw it on him, "Need you to get into the cage. Do us both a favour and don't make this difficult." For a wonder, he did as I asked. I reconfigured the chain set-up and exited the cage, only dropping the binding spell once it was firmly locked. "Thank you," I said to him.

He looked at me oddly and cleared his throat. I waited, having given up on guessing what he might say. 

"What is Ben?"

"You. We don't know what to call you. You're Ben Hassrath. Shorten it, you get Ben."

He frowned. But then, he spent most of his time frowning, so I turned to walk away.

"Hissrad."

I turned back to him.

"I am Hissrad."

I nodded. "Very well. You really didn't strike me as Tallis, to be honest. We'll be on our way soon." This time I did walk away. 

We walked the horses up onto the highway, then walked them another several minutes before truly getting underway. Internally I was chafing at how bloody long everything was taking, but there was no getting around it. One more thing all the bards and tale-tellers leave out: you have to spend a mind-numbing amount of time tending to horses on a long trip. It wasn't so bad in the Inquisition, because as Fearless Leader and his elite inner circle we always had _people_ to do all the tedious bits. As a private contractor I had no people and no choice but to do it all myself. While I'm fond of my horse, I have to admit I mostly hate all the work it takes to maintain him. If there was a faster way to travel I'd take it in a heartbeat.

"Kai, that is just fucking creepy."

We'd been riding for a few hours and I was idly daydreaming about what I was going to do in Minrathous when Cam jarred me back to reality. "Huh? What's creepy?"

"That." He pointed at my prosthesis, which was sticking halfway out of my saddlebag. "Can't you turn the rune off?"

I grinned. "Sorry, it didn't come with a toggle."

"Maybe put it back on then?"

"I told you, my arm's irritated. There's nothing I should need to have it on for today." I really hadn't felt like putting it on, so into the saddlebag it went. I'd pinned up the left sleeve of my coat with a small attraction spell.

"We should stop at the next pullout for the horses," said Fadik. "Look at it this way, Cam, riding around with what looks like a souvenir severed arm might scare off a few would-be attackers."

"I keep expecting it to move," he complained.

"So switch sides with him," she said, "Then you won't see it. Personally I find it kind of humorous."

Cam rolled his eyes. "You would."


	25. Everyone's Got a Past

The entire day went by uneventfully. Everyone we passed — and there weren’t many other travelers — kept their distance. Maybe there was something to Fadik’s _severed arm souvenir_ theory. The sameness of it all and the annoyingly slow pace mandated by the presence of the cage cart made it seem to drag on forever (or perhaps it was just that I _really_ wanted to get to Minrathous). Therefore, we were all cheered when Fadik announced that after dinner she thought we deserved a few drinks each from one of the casks.

Of course, once we’d pulled off, we had to deal with the horses and set up the camp first. I continued my policy of letting Hissrad out of his cage. He didn’t say anything this time, but he was slightly less frowny.

Once the meal was finished and the beer cask cracked, everyone finally relaxed. We'd been travelling together long enough now that conversation had become less guarded. I asked Fadik and Cam how long they'd been working together, and was a bit surprised to find it was only their third job. "You act like you've been teamed up a lot longer than that," I said.

"The first job we did was…intense," Fadik said. "We found out we work well together."

"Especially with half a nobleman's private army chasing after us," Cam chimed in.

"So we decided to partner up, at least for a time," Fadik finished. "Our talents complement each other and let's be honest — both of us have run into problems with humans not wanting to work with us. No offense."

I shrugged. "None taken. I'm the first to admit many of my fellow humans are narrow-minded assholes. Same goes for elves, dwarves and Qunari, though. Believe it or not, not everyone is particularly fond of mages either. How did you end up in this line of work anyway?"

They looked at each other and Cam said, “Go ahead,” to Fadik.

"I was raised in the Qun, as you probably suspected," Fadik said.

I nodded. "Thought so, just from your accent and the way you talk."

"Then you know what that means. My role within the Qun was predetermined, but I was never content with that. From the time I was young, there always seemed to be a degree of friction between what I was supposed to become and what I wished to become. I admit they tried to accommodate me to a point — I became an Ashaad, and a damn good one — but I made the mistake of questioning too much too frequently. My superiors eventually tired of it. I discovered they were going to send me for re-education. I gave it much thought and decided that perhaps being Tal-Vashoth is not so terrible a thing as I had always been told. So some five years ago I fled to your lands and have been here ever since. There are many jobs your people do not wish to consider Qunari for, but they always seem willing to hire us as extra muscle."

I smiled at her. “You’re intimidating to people; why not use it.”

“And yet you are not intimidated.”

"And you’re not afraid of my being a mage. Did they pursue you?" I asked.

"Perhaps. If so, they didn't try very hard. I have no doubt Hissrad over there would kill me in a heartbeat if he could, but he and his unit weren't down here for me."

"Do you ever regret it?" 

She shook her head. "I'm one of those who doesn't mesh well into the sort of society the Qun is. Therefore they would have to break me; it was only a matter of time. You understand?"

I smiled slightly. "Yes. My Qunari friend assured me I would be in the same situation under the Qun even if I wasn't a mage. I went through a less dire version of that myself."

"Your mage circles?" she hazarded with pinpoint accuracy.

"Exactly."

"You were in a circle? I find that hard to picture," Cam said.

"Eighteen bloody years," I said. "It wasn't until the mage-Templar war that I was able to get out."

"Not that you're bitter about it," Fadik added with a grin.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked.

"Frankly, yes."

I took a drink of beer and decided there was really nothing more to be said on the subject. "What about you, Cam?"

He chuckled. "Oh, mine is the classic alienage elf story. Grew up in the Denerim alienage, discovered pretty young that I was good at climbing, sneaking, hiding — everything that makes a good thief, yeah? So that's what I started doing and I did very well at it, I have to say. Then I got my hands on a dagger and found out I'm aces with those as well. Not that I didn't have to practice, but the learning came easy to me. Eventually I got a little too cocky and got noticed by a group of thieves, but instead of killing me they recruited me. Spent a few years living about as well as you can in an alienage, but a handful of us younger ones decided we wanted more. We were all still just thinking of being professional thieves at the time, and we convinced ourselves that if we could just make one big score we could get out of Denerim and become _famous_ professional thieves somewhere else, like maybe the Free Marches."

"Why the Free Marches?" Fadik asked.

Cam smiled wryly. "Because the word 'Free' was right there in the name. We were pig-ignorant about the world outside Denerim. We had this idea that in the Free Marches you'd be able to do whatever you want. What can I say: we were dumb kids. Anyways, we set out to rob one of the big noble houses in the city, thought we were bloody brilliant. We had someone lined up to take the goods and everything. I won't go into detail, but of course the whole thing went tits up. Of the five of us, one was killed that night, two were caught and later executed, and two of us escaped. We had to leave the city that night, and we went in separate directions because we figured it would be safer; I never did find out what happened to her. I went with our original plan and crossed into the Free Marches, which I found out are nowhere near as free as we'd imagined. Did a fair bit of thieving and moved around a _lot_ , eventually joined up with a guild in Markham and stayed with them for a few years. I started doing some mercenary work and liked it more than what the guild had me doing, and ever since then I've been trying to get enough of a reputation that I can charge the _big_ prices. There you have it. My life in a nutshell." He raised his tankard in a salute that we mirrored.

"Your turn, Kai," Fadik said. "How'd you go from good little circle mage to badass magic-slinging outrider?"

I shrugged. "I grew up in a noble family in Ostwick, then when I was thirteen the Templars found out I could do magic and slammed me into a circle. When the war started I walked away from the circle, spent a few years learning how to live in the real world. Then some things happened that made life extremely interesting and extremely complicated, I traveled over most of southern Thedas and fought just about every ugly-arsed thing in existence, fixed some things that needed fixing, lost my arm, burnt out and left the job I'd been doing, moved to Hasmal and now I do outrider jobs for extra money."

"Very succinct," Fadik said, raising her tankard in another salute which we joined.

" _Too_ succinct. Weren't you in the thing?" Cam said. "You know, the quiz…Inquisition! You were him, right?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I was who?"

"The _leader_ ; Inquisitor, yeah? Everyone in Denerim thought you lot were gonna try to invade or take over Ferelden or some bloody thing like that and then he - you - shut the whole thing down and disappeared."

I sighed. "Yes, that was me."

"I knew it!" He toasted himself, drained his tankard and refilled it. "Hey Fadik, we got the Herald of Andraste riding with us!"

As I groaned, Fadik said, "The what of _what_?"

"The _Her_ ald of An _dras_ te," Cam grinned. "The Divine back then had some bloody great meeting up in the mountains and the whole mountain _blew up_ and everyone died but him because Andraste pulled him into the Fade and put her magic mark on him and sent him back to- to- um. Save the world or something. For her. Or stop the war. There were all rift-thingies everywhere and Fade demons and he had to stop them. I think." He turned to me. " _You_ tell her. I don't completely remember but it had something to do with those rift-things and Andraste."

Fadik looked at me expectantly. "Well? What's he babbling about?"

"Most of it's bullshit," I said irritably, "There was a conclave to try and broker an end to the mage-Templar war, and one asshole who thinks he's not one and another asshole who knew he was and didn't care caused a magical accident that was making rifts in the Veil, so nasty little doorways were opening between the Fade and the real world and letting demons out. I got a piece of that accident embedded in my left hand and it decided it liked it there and stayed. It did exactly two useful things — stopped the plan the bastard who originally made it had concocted, and made it possible for me to close the rifts. It's also the reason I lost my arm, so don't expect me to sing its praises. I'll admit leading the Inquisition was all right the first few years, but the whole Andraste thing was a load of utter rubbish. I’d really rather not talk about it."

She nodded. "Fair enough. I think we'll give you a break and accept your abridged version. Cam, don't call him Herald of Andraste or we'll both start calling you _knife ears_."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Sorry, Kai. Didn't mean to poke at a sore spot. Besides, it was all a long time ago."

I had to laugh. _What was that line about fame being fleeting?_ "You're right, it _was_ a long time ago. So if you don't mind my asking, how did you get that scar on your cheek?"

"This?" He grinned. "Running from _pirates._ "

"When were you ever on the high seas?" Fadik scoffed.

"Wasn't. A friend and I were running a card scam between jobs down at the docks in Hercinia. A pirate ship was in port and the crew was spending all their money, so we didn't see why we shouldn't get some of it. We were doing the mutt's nuts too, until one of them caught on to the scam. Turned into a pub-wide dust-up. I escaped with my ill-gotten winnings and this little souvenir."

We all laughed and Fadik said, "Speaking of souvenirs…" She pulled up the right sleeve of her shirt, pointing at a round scar in the meaty part of her upper arm, "Crossbow bolt. Through and through, managed to miss all the main cables, but had to leave it in while I fought two bandits and the Orlesian twat that hired me sat inside his carriage hollering instructions about how I wasn't _battling_ them correctly."

Cam countered by pulling up the left leg of his trousers to show what was clearly a bite mark on his calf. "Mabari hound. Woman we were robbing turned out to be a former soldier; didn't even know the beast was there until it'd latched onto my leg. My partner got it to let go with one of the more clever weapons I've ever seen."

"And that would be?" I said.

"A perfume atomizer. She sprayed it straight up the dog's nose and even then it took a _lot_ until it let go to sneeze. I smelled like a field of flowers threw up on me for days."

Fadik pulled her shirt collar down further, showing a mottled pattern that started on her throat and ended a few inches below her collarbone. "Chasing some fugitive Vint mage — Venatori, she called herself."

"I'm familiar with them," I said. "Killed quite a few, in fact."

"Good to know it wasn't a friend of yours. She played injured then lobbed some sort of fire spell at me. Damn thing wouldn't stop burning until she was dead." She looked at me sharply. "So what about you? Any war wounds or are you like most mages?"

"What are most mages like?" 

"You know: You stay far enough back that nothing can touch you, keep yourselves behind magical barriers and then crumple into a pansy-arsed heap if anything so much as grazes you."

Cam snickered.

I smiled and shook my head. "All right then. I don't normally do this, but I can't have you besmirching mages so grievously." I pulled both my shirts up, exposing my left side. "Fade demon. First try made all the claw marks. Second attack one of its claws went all the way through; it broke a few ribs on the way. Left that chunk of itself in me when I blew the rest of it into salad toppings, and the chunk was trying to bond to me; had to be _ripped_ out before it managed to." I pulled my shirts back down.

Fadik nodded appreciatively. "Impressive. I will concede that you aren't like most mages."

"Okay, that's tough to beat," Cam said, "But I've got one more." He stood up and faced away from us, pulling up his own shirt. There was a vicious-looking scar on his lower back directly over his right kidney. 

"Hunh. One of the people you stole from?" guessed Fadik.

"Worse." He let his shirt drop and sat back down.

"Slavers? Sadistic nobles?" I threw out.

"Nope, worse," Cam grinned, "Angry ex-girlfriend."

"Did you deserve it?" I asked.

"Of course he did," Fadik said.

"Of course I did," Cam agreed. 

"And that best conclude the tales for tonight," Fadik added. "We need to make some distance tomorrow; we're not even off the Imperial Highway yet."

"Agreed. If we push we might be able to make the crossroads by nightfall. I'll take first watch again if you're both good with that," I said, finishing the last of my third beer.

They were, and it wasn't long before I was once again alone in the quiet of the night. I watched the moonlight shimmer in odd, crawling patterns out on the plains. A ways off to the side I heard Hissrad's chains clink softly. I waited, watching the patterns become almost-shapes before collapsing back in on themselves. Finally I took out my sending crystal and activated it, waited some more. A wind kicked up, coming in from the plains. It smelled faintly of strawberries and old death tonight; other nights it would be something entirely different. Some time later Dorian's voice said, "Amatus?"

"Here," I replied.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Not too long, no. I'd be sitting here regardless, so don't feel bad. How are you?"

"Still alive, but not at all enamoured with the way this day went. Everyone wanted _meetings_ for some maker-cursed reason. I have been _meeting_ since shortly after breakfast."

"You did want to embrace politics," I said. " _I_ spent all day riding a horse. And walking said horse. And feeding the horse and grooming the horse and catering to the horse. _And_ I got to take a bloody great Qunari who'd love to gut me out for walkies."

"Sounds delightful. I do so miss those heady days of freedom, riding the countryside and killing things _just_ before they manage to kill us, sleeping in tents on what feels like a bag of rocks, discovering new species of insects as they all try to bite you at once."

"You forgot the weather," I said.

"No, amatus, I am _trying_ to forget the weather," he corrected. "So it's all been horses and angry Qunari for you?"

"We did have a few drinks around the campfire tonight," I said. "We compared scars."

He laughed. "The best part is I know you're not making that up. And yet you continue to deny my accusation of ruggedness. You should embrace it. It's not a description many mages can honestly claim."

"I prefer badass," I informed him, "I feel it captures my essence more accurately. _Rugged_ suggests I might enjoy tending to my horse and standing about in the outdoors getting dusty, whereas _badass_ suggests I only do these things for some very good, very _impressive_ reason."

“Hm. I applaud your well-considered reasoning. Very well, from now on I shall think of you as badass, even though other mages have earned that appellation _without_ all the horses and general dustiness.”

We talked through the calm, quiet night until it was time for me to wake Fadik. Once again I was out within minutes of crawling into my tent and didn’t stir until the morning racket the horses always made woke me. 


	26. I Went Down to the Crossroads...

While the others broke down the camp, I went to get Hissrad back into his cage. Happily, he was already sitting in it, so I started dismissing my wards.

“Mage.”

I looked at him, surprised that he’d elected to call me anything but dangerous foreign trash. “It just kills you to call anyone by name, doesn’t it?” I said.

“The name is meaningless. Mage is what you are,” he replied.

“Mage may be what I am, but Kai is _who_ I am,” I countered. “There are many mages, just like there are many Hissrad, but there is only one that is uniquely me. Or you, for that matter.”

“ _You_ do not matter. Your place is what matters. Mage is your place, yet you pretend to be more.”

“I _am_ more than the talent I happened to be born with.”

“That talent ( _he said with obvious disdain_ ) defines you. It is your place.”

“No, Hissrad, _I_ define my talent. It’s shaped by my will and I utilize _it_ , not the other way ‘round. You don’t get to be Hissrad without having at least some intelligence, so let me suggest something to you: Perhaps the reason you are so terrified of your mages becoming possessed is the Qun doesn’t allow them to develop a strong sense of self. You insist they are _things._ And _things_ are easily possessed, whereas _people_ , especially people who do have that sense of self, tend to resist that which would strip that away.”

He frowned at me so hard I thought his face might break. “Oh, never mind,” I said, “We’ll never agree. Was there something you wanted?”

“I hear you at night. You speak to someone.” 

I looked at him curiously. “And?”

“You do not wish the others to know, yet I know this thing.”

I burst out laughing. “And what? You think you can hold it over me? I do it for privacy, not because I’m up to anything. Go ahead and tell them. Binding spell time.” I cast the spell and fixed the chains in their in-cage configuration, crawled back out and locked the cage securely before releasing him. “Hissrad, I’m sure you do very well within the framework of the Qun, but you’re bloody awful at dealing with people,” I said and walked away.

The rest of the day was essentially a repeat of the previous one. We made good progress, stopping here and there for the horses and sometimes for ourselves. The weather stayed agreeable, as did the occasional other travelers we encountered, and now that the ice had been broken, Cam turned out to have a wealth of stories he was happy to tell about his adventures as a thief and rogue. Some of them were undoubtedly complete bollocks, but he was a good storyteller and it helped pass the time. 

As dusk drew near Fadik said, “Do you think we’ll make the crossroads tonight?”

“We’re close,” I replied. “If we push on a bit past dark we might make it.”

“I don’t know if my horse _or_ my ass can take that,” Cam joked. “What exactly is the crossroads?”

“It’s not really a crossroads; it's a junction where the Imperial Highway forks,” I explained. 

"Then why don't they call it the junction?" 

“Because that would be logical?" I shrugged. "The main branch keeps going north-northwest; that’s the one we’ll be taking. The other branch goes east towards Solas and ends in Perivantium.”

Fadik took over, “But since it forks and there is so much traffic along both roads, people moved in; it’s a natural place to stop and trade and resupply. It is basically a wide-open market surrounded by a few inns and more taverns, gambling dens and whorehouses than should be able to survive in such a small area, but somehow they all do.”

“Sounds like my kind of town,” Cam grinned. “Have a few drinks, play some cards and end the night with a comely wench. Whadda you say? You both up for some fun?”

“I would be up for the drinks and cards, but I have no interest in the other,” Fadik said.

“Well, I’m sure there’s men available too,” Cam replied.

“No. I have _no_ interest,” Fadik reiterated. “Never have. And do not tell me I’ve simply never met the right person. The rest of you are welcome to indulge your sticky fumblings with each other, but leave me out of it.”

“ _None_?” Cam said wonderingly.

“None,” Fadik said firmly.

I chuckled softly as Cam turned to me. “What about you, Kai? The two of us, out on the town?”

“Sorry,” I said, “Not interested in wenches and already have a man. I’ll stick with the drinks and cards too.”

Cam shook his head mournfully. “No one is going to believe me when I tell them this.” He looked at us narrowly. “Are you sure this isn’t just because you’re both _old_?”

“Watch it, elf,” Fadik growled.

“You do know we’re going to make you regret that question,” I added.

“As long as I’m able to sate myself with liquor and tawdry sex first,” Cam smirked, then yelped as I hit him with a tiny lightning bolt. “No fair! You’re not supposed to use magic against your allies.”

“Merely teaching you to respect your elders,” I said piously. 

Fadik laughed and changed the subject to what sort of timetable we were looking at.

A short time later we left the road in order to switch out the cart horse with the pack horse so we could make the extra push to the crossroads without overtaxing the animals. As Cam offered to do the actual switching (for some reason the horses seemed to like him best), Fadik and I found ourselves standing around waiting.

I gave her a half smile. “Sticky fumblings?”

“I thought that was a polite way to describe it,” she said, looking amused. “Look, I’ll say this once and then I consider the subject closed. I find females boring and, I’m sorry, but sexually aroused males look ridiculous.” 

“Thanks,” I said drily.

She smiled, shrugged and continued, “What you all get up to together in whatever configuration is fine for you, but personally I find the whole thing off-putting. Are you going to attempt to tell me I’m wrong or somehow unnatural now?”

“Absolutely not,” I assured her. “If that’s how you feel, that’s how you feel. There are people who find my proclivities off-putting and aberrant too, so who am I to judge?”

She nodded. “Thank you. It is nice to know I won’t have to endure the same tired arguments from you.”

“How long do you figure it is from the crossroads to Marnus Pell? I’ve never actually been there,” I said.

“If things keep going as smoothly as they have?  Perhaps another three to four days.” I must have looked put out, because she said, “I take it you have something more to do here than help deliver our bundle of joy to the Vints?”

I nodded. “I need to get to Minrathous. I can book passage on a ship from Marnus Pell, can’t I?”

“Easily,” Fadik confirmed. “Is this thing in Minrathous something you can talk about?”

“I can tell you I need to find someone, but that’s all.”

"Bounty hunting?"

"Something like that."

“You won’t be heading back with us then,” she made it half a question.

“I’m afraid not. I don’t think you’ll want to wait around for me in Marnus Pell; I don’t even know how long it might take me to find them.”

“A pity,” she favoured me with a slight smile, “You’re one of the least annoying people I’ve worked with. Assuming the Vints pay up like they’ve agreed, we’ll settle the money in Marnus Pell then. You should look us up if you find yourself wanting more work.”

“I will,” I assured her. “The feeling is mutual: you’re both refreshingly easy to travel with.”

“Of course, it remains to be seen whether you’re all you claim to be in a fight,” she added.

“I could say the same of you,” I shot back with a grin. “For all I know you’re all bluster and muscles with no skill to back it up. There are plenty of you warrior types who seem to think you can get by just hollering loudly while you run at your enemy flailing your weapon about in their general direction.”

“Us warrior types?” she looked at me narrowly.

“Hey, I’ve taken a lot of abuse directed at mages from you. It’s only fair you know that cuts both ways.”

“We should not hope for a fight so we can prove our claims…” she said.

“No, of course not,” I agreed.

“But should one occur, you’ll be eating your words, mage.”

“As shall you, warrior.” 

“Hey!” Cam ambled up, smelling more horsey than we all already did, “What are you lot talking about while I work my fingers to the bone? Me?”

“Certainly not,” Fadik sniffed.

“It’s old people stuff; you wouldn’t understand,” I added.

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Cam said.

“No. Never,” Fadik agreed.


	27. My Kind of Town

We reached the crossroads a bit over an hour after full dark. As always, our first order of business was to bloody see to the bloody horses, though this time all that entailed was parking them at a stable. We secured rooms at the adjacent inn, which I was familiar with as being clean and fairly priced. Finding somewhere to put Hissrad was trickier. There was a small jail at the north end of the settlement, but it was primarily used to lock up drunks who needed to sleep it off. The jailer took one look at the big Qunari and declared the jail wasn’t set up to take prisoners like him. There were no other secure facilities, so we ended up having to leave him in the cage cart. I felt vaguely guilty about that, but reminded myself that if he were free he’d no doubt do his level best to kill me; maker knows enough of his kind had already tried.

We stowed our gear in our rooms (we’d gotten two) and I warded the doors so only the three of us could enter. We ate down in the common room, discussing our plans for the night. Cam was determined to go out and debauch himself one way or another, which was a bit of a problem, since neither Fadik nor I was particularly interested in joining _or_ babysitting him.

“I don’t see why you’re so bloody worried about me just letting off some steam,” he groused.

“Remember those slavers you’ve been seeing all the way here?” Fadik said.

“What about them? You said we shouldn’t get involved.”

“Cam,” I took over, “how many elves do you think got stupid drunk one night and woke up in chains at the end of a slaver’s string the next day? It’s a very real possibility here, moreso for you than for either of us.”

“I’ll be _careful_ ,” he protested. “I know where our rooms are; if I’m going to pass out I’ll make sure and go there first.”

“You say that now,” Fadik said. “What if you can’t make it there? Or you drunkenly decide you don’t want to?”

He made an impatient noise. “Andraste’s tits, Fadik, I’ve gotten along quite well in life without your benevolent guidance, you know. If you two consider this payback for that _old_ comment, you’ve made your point and can bloody stop now. I’m not a foolish child.”

“No, you’re a reasonably intelligent adult elf who’s in Tevinter for the first time in his life,” I said. “The rules are a little different here. I’m in virtually no danger of being seized by slavers because I’m a mage; if I were just a normal human I’d have to watch my arse nearly as much as you. Fadik’s reasonably safe because she’s big and scary and not determined to get piss drunk tonight. _You_ , however, are considered fair game and this isn’t even a town; it’s just a stopover. The only ones here who are going to protect you if things go wrong are Fadik and me. There are slavers who hang around here just _waiting_ for people to do something stupid and let their guard down.”

“And I will keep that in mind,” he said irritably. “Look Fadik, you can sit here and- and sharpen your sword all night while _he_ daydreams about his boyfriend, but _I’m_ going to have a proper piss-up and get laid, understand?”

Fadik gave a strangled groan. I slumped forward onto the table and banged my head against the surface a few times before looking up at him. “Fine. Have it your way. Just wait here for a bit, would you?” Without waiting for an answer I went up to our rooms and dug around in my gear until I found what I was looking for: a pretty little carving of two dragons facing one another. I’d bought it thinking I might give it to Mikal as a souvenir, but there were plenty of dragon carvings available in Tevinter. I sat down and spent a few minutes casting some initial spells to bind the little carving to me before going back downstairs.

I threw myself back into my chair and set the little carving on the table. 

“What’s that for?” Cam asked.

“Insurance,” I said shortly. “This won’t take long.” I carefully broke the carving in half so each dragon was separate and did the second part of the casting in front of him, primarily to impress him and make it clear that we were having to go to extra trouble to protect his arse. Once I’d finished, I handed him one of the dragons. “Keep this with you. If anything goes wrong — and I mean _seriously_ wrong, not you ran out of money and can’t afford another drink for the girl of your dreams — break this and I’ll know you need help. Understand?”

He picked up the little dragon carving and studied it solemnly. “You really are worried, aren’t you,” he said.

“I like Tevinter very much, but I’m also not blind to its dangers,” I said. “As an elf, you need to be doubly on your guard. It’s not fair to you, but it’s reality, even when all you want to do is have a few too many drinks and wind up in bed with an attractive woman. So take the dragon and hopefully you’ll be able to give it back to me tomorrow intact.”

“I- thanks, Kai. I will.” He put it carefully into one of his pockets, then looked at us with a wide, hopeful smile. “Will you two at least come along for the drinks and cards like you promised?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Fadik said cheerfully.

“Just let me get my coat,” I said and went back up to our rooms. For the first time since we’d left Hasmal, I slotted my staff into its harness on the back of my coat. In this place its presence would no doubt elicit some resentment among the soparati (the non-magical humans that make up the bulk of Tevinter’s populace), but it would also let people know not to fuck with us.  
  
Both Fadik and I knew the better places to go for booze that was mostly what it was advertised to be and gambling that was only moderately dishonest. We both agreed the best of the lot was a place called The Red Door (because their door was red; no one goes to much trouble to name their establishments in the crossroads). The place was busy, but not overwhelmingly so and we were able to get drinks and join a card game with ease. Our opponents were a couple of dwarven traders I was slightly acquainted with (I didn't know them by name, but one had skin so ruddy he always looked like he had a terrible sunburn and the other was one of the few dwarves I'd seen aside from Varric that didn't sport a beard), a heavyset Rivaini woman who spent the entire time with a pipe clamped between her teeth though I never saw her light it, a sharp-featured elf whose fair skin was covered with some of the most elegant tattoos I've ever seen, and a deeply tanned woman in riding leathers with a staff strapped to her back in a harness much like my own. They were playing Wicked Grace and so far the majority of the money seemed to be in the hands of the elf and the Rivaini.

The next few hours flew by quickly. Both Fadik and I stuck to beer; I saw Cam opting for something harder. Fadik was losing more than she won, but I was winning a bit more than I lost, so together we came out even, I suppose. Cam had been having something of a winning streak and I was hoping that would be sufficient to keep him with us for the night, but he swept his winnings into his money pouch and stood up, coming around behind us to drape an arm around each of our shoulders.

"Well, this has been the dog's bollocks, but I've got to go meet the girl of my dreams," he said with a boozy grin.

"Just do us a favour and go to one of the places we suggested," I said.

"But neither one of you have ever _been_ to them so how would _you_ know," he shot back smugly.

"It's this thing we do called talking to people," Fadik said. "Sometimes we even listen to them. You should try it sometime."

"Everyone says the Yellow Shutters has anything you might want and you don't have to worry about needing to use a healing potion the next day," I offered ( _and yes, you probably guessed it: the Yellow Shutters has yellow shuttered windows)_.

"Okay, okay, I hear you." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, you two, just trust me, I know what I'm doing. I got away from _pirates_ after all. I'll see you in the morning." As he walked away I could hear him muttering,  "Andraste's tits, you don't even _like_ girls…"

"Think he'll have to break the dragon?" Fadik said.

I took a slow drink of beer. "I hope not."

“Break the dragon?” said the elf, who was seated to my right.

“Sort of an in-joke,” I replied.

“Hey Qunari, it’s your deal,” said the Rivaini woman.

We played a few more hands then the dwarven traders announced they had an early departure planned and dropped out of the game. It seemed to be the signal to everyone to remember they had things to do the next day and the game broke up. 

Fadik and I went back to the inn, bought a few more beers downstairs and took them up to the larger of our two rooms. I won’t say we were waiting up for Cam, but neither one of us was particularly tired, so we talked instead. In an odd way, we had quite a bit in common. Both of us had spent many years locked in a repressive, structured environment that we weren’t able to reconcile to and both of us had walked away from that into an uncertain future. I’d had seven years of freedom to her five, and if my life hadn’t taken such a wild turn, I could absolutely see myself doing mercenary work full time just like she was.

We spent I don’t know how long trading stories. She had plenty from years of working as a mercenary. I had those as well as a staggering number of stories from my Inquisition days, some of which I could see she rather doubted the veracity of. We were lounging in chairs on opposite sides of the bed, boots off and our feet up on the bed itself. In addition to my overshirt, I’d taken my prosthesis off; it was propped in the window sill at a jaunty angle. She was in the middle of a story about a particularly disastrous encounter with an Orlesian chevalier when someone pounded loudly on the door. Fadik jumped up to answer it as I readied a spell in case the knocker was hostile.

It was the tattooed elf from the card game. “Good, you’re up. I was afraid I’d have to wake you,” he said. “I believe I have something of yours.”

I stood as Fadik said, “You couldn’t bring it up here?”

The elf smiled thinly. “Believe me, you’ll thank me for leaving it outside.”

We pulled our boots back on (I let Fadik help me rather than piss about with the prosthesis) and followed him downstairs. At this late hour the common room was empty, the fire in the big fireplace banked. I absently made some extra light as he opened the door. Off to one side was what looked at first glance to be a heap of clothing. Then the heap groaned, spit and muttered, “Buggrit,” before subsiding again.

“ _Vashedan_ ,” Fadik growled.

“Where’d you get him? And what’s that _smell_?” I asked the elf as the scent reached me.

“It appears he got into a fight. With whom, I don’t know. Nor do I know if he won or lost, though if he did win I’d hate to see the loser,” the elf said as he moved to stay upwind of our partner. “I recognized him from the card game and thought you might appreciate it if I returned him to you.”

I strengthened my light and directed it at Cam. He looked like all five of our horses had run over him. Twice. And he was covered from head to foot in…well, I didn’t really want to know. “You clearly have remarkable powers of observation to have recognized him at all,” I said. “Thank you. I think.”

He smiled thinly at us. “The interesting part was getting him here without having to actually touch him. I’m curious. Did he break the dragon?”

Fadik laughed. “Did he, Kai?”

“Amazingly, no. You deserve something for herding him here,” I said to the elf, “what can we give you?”

“What might you offer? Recompense wasn’t my main goal in bringing him back to you — we all know where he was likely to end up — but in my experience it’s foolish to turn down offers.”

I shrugged. “Money we can do within reason. Anything else would have to be negotiated depending on what you’re looking for.”

“Your friend will need cleaning and new clothes,” the elf said. “Perhaps the lady could get those while you and I chat?”

I raised my eyebrows at Fadik. “Is that all right with you?”

She grunted, “I can take a hint. Back soon, so you’d best not take long getting to the point.” She disappeared back into the inn.

The elf and I walked a short distance away, careful to stay upwind of Cam. “I get the impression you _are_ looking for something. What is it?” I asked.

"Though I regret your friend ran into trouble, I'm pleased I was able to come to his aid. It afforded me a much more convivial means of meeting with you than trying to hunt you down in the morning as I was anticipating."

"And you were planning on hunting me down why?"

“I know you,” he said.

“Is that so?” I said drily. “Unfortunately I can’t say the same of you. So in no particular order, who are you, where do you know me from, and what do you want? As Fadik said, you may want to get to the point if you want this conversation to remain private.”

“My name is Vel Docilus,” he said. “I know of you from Minrathous. Your name is Kai…Trevelyan, I believe? Did I pronounce that correctly?" At my cautious nod, he continued, "Though he hasn’t come out and said it, everyone knows you’re Dorian Pavus’ consort.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I am?”

He favored me with another thin smile. “In the absence of a better term, it suffices. You have his ear — and quite a bit more, I’m sure — and you have the respect of some Altus as well as others whom the Altus like to pretend don’t exist, despite being a southerner.”

“Are you going somewhere with this?” I asked. For some reason he was setting my nerves on edge.

“Patience, I’m trying to say this quickly without giving you the wrong impression. I am Laetan. You know what this means?”

I nodded. “You’re a mage. You’re also an elf, so you’re in an interesting position of — what would you call it — powerful powerlessness?”

He chuckled. “I like that. Very succinct. What I would like is simple. I have been hearing much about Magister Pavus and his Lucerni of late. It intrigues me. I would have words with him, but this is not something a man in my position would normally be able to achieve. You could arrange that.”

I looked at him skeptically. “How do I know you’re not just another merchant trying to curry favour and recognition from a magister? You could even be an assassin."

He grinned. “I suppose you don’t. Whether I am what I say or not, your drunken friend provided the perfect means for me to request a favor. You are going to Minrathous, yes?”

I didn’t see any reason to deny it. “Yes, once I’ve taken care of some other business.”

“Then for the time being I have but one request.” He pulled a small piece of vellum out of his coat pocket. “My address. Come see me while you are in Minrathous that I might plead my case to you. I promise at the very least you will get a good meal out of it.”

"You just happened to have your address written on _vellum_ in case you ran into someone you might need to give it to?" I said skeptically.

"Among other things, I am a businessman, so yes," he replied. "And before you ask, running into you here truly was merely a fortunate accident. I am not one who lets fortunate accidents slip past me without exploiting them if I stand to profit in some way."

I took the vellum. “I’ll consider it. You do know that my speaking with you further doesn’t guarantee anything.”

He inclined his head. “Of course. I look forward to seeing you. Perhaps we can even get a few hands of Wicked Grace in if you’re so inclined.” He raised his hand in parting and walked away.

I was still standing there thinking when Fadik joined me, a bundle of Cam's clothes in her hands. "What was all that about?" she asked.

"I wish I knew. On the surface he just asked a fairly simple favour of me, but I get the feeling nothing about that wanker is _simple_."

"Well, you might want to think about it later; Ser Stealth over there needs cleaning up something awful," she said with bleak cheer. "By the way, your coat was making noise upstairs. Is it supposed to do that?"

"Shite, Dorian," I said to myself. "I'll be back in a moment, Fadik. Just…stay upwind of him 'til I get back." As she gave me a suspicious look I dashed back into the inn and pounded up the stairs to our rooms, kicking the door closed as I fished the sending crystal out of its container and activated it. "Dorian?" I said.

"Amatus, there you are. I was beginning to wonder," came Dorian's voice.

"Sorry, there're _things_ going on." I threw myself on the bed.

"You sound out of breath. What sort of things?"

"Well, one third of our company went out, got himself piss drunk and beat up and smells like the wrong end of a dracolisk. And then- do you know a tattooed Laetan elf?"

"Is that the beginning of a joke?"

I chuckled. "I wish. I'll have to tell you everything later. I've got to get back downstairs and help Fadik clean the idiot up."

"Ah! Then you're in a place with stairs," Dorian said brightly.

"Yes, we made it to the crossroads. We'll be pushing on tomorrow, though at this rate we're likely to get a late start. How are you? Is everything okay there?"

"Nothing _overtly_ wrong. Like you said, I'll have to tell you everything later when you've got time."

"I'm looking forward to it. Hey - I thought I might go from Marnas Pell to Minrathous by sea. Is it faster?"

"As long as you don't run into weather, it can be quite a bit faster," Dorian said.

"Good." I levered myself back off the bed. "I'm sorry, but I really need to get back-"

"Say no more, amatus. I understand. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Thanks. Love you," I said.

"Love you too. Go clean your elf."

I laughed. "Maker's breath, that so sounds like a euphemism."

"I'm sure somewhere it is," Dorian sounded equally amused. "Until tomorrow."

"'Bye." I deactivated the sending crystal and put it carefully back in its case, grabbed a healing potion and ran back downstairs.

Fadik was waiting, looking impatient. "I tried to hurry," I said. "Sorry. I brought this too," I showed her the healing potion. "I'd rather he be able to clean _himself_ up. If you wouldn't mind taking it for a minute?"

She took it, saying, "So how do you want to go about this?"

I cast a light, aiming it at Cam. He was in a sitting position, back against the outer wall of the inn, snoring softly. "First a little practical magic," I told her. Standing in front of him, I cast a clean-up spell (as I've described elsewhere, the spell basically desiccates all the blood, sweat and assorted ick off you, after which you can just dust yourself off. It's not as good as proper washing, but it's vastly preferable to being caked with muck) that left him looking like he'd come out of a dustbin rather than an abattoir. "It unfortunately doesn't completely get rid of the smell and we could do with a good whisk broom, but it's a start."

"Can't you just conjure a wind to get the dust off him?" Fadik asked.

"Nope. Never learned how. I have no talent for weather magic.” 

"He looks like ten miles of bad road. Good thinking on the healing potion," she said. "Now to get it down his throat."

"If I can shock him awake can you get him to drink it?"

"I'll bloody _make_ him drink it," she said grimly.

So I fired little lightning bolts at him until he opened his eyes, then Fadik more or less bullied him into drinking the potion. We waited the few minutes for the potion to take effect. Finally Cam opened his eyes again, blinked owlishly at us and yawned. "Wotcha! What's up, guys?"

Fadik loomed over him ominously, intoning, "You. Bathhouse. NOW."

Cam stood up, looking distinctly wobbly. "Andraste's tits, Fadik, I'm tired. It can wait."

"No it can't. You clean up now or you sleep outside." She thrust the bundle of clothes at him.

He craned his head to look past her and gave me a desperate look. "Kai?"

"You heard her," I said sternly. "And once you're done you should let me burn what you're wearing."

With a put-upon sigh he took the clothes and meandered his way to the bathhouse. We waited more; I stuck my head into the bathhouse now and then to make sure he didn't fall asleep, but I'll give him credit: he actually cleaned himself up. He came out only looking like two miles of bad road and minus the ghastly aroma. We escorted him back to the inn and straight into the smaller room. Protesting half-heartedly, he lay down on the bed and within a matter of seconds was fast asleep. 

We went back to the bigger room and stood there staring at each other. Finally Fadik said, "So."

"I don't know about you, but I could really use some sleep about now," I said.

"Hmn. Tell me, if we share this bed are you suddenly going to be overcome with lustful desires?"

I snorted. "Are you?"

"Not bloody likely. You'd better not snore."

"Same goes for you. If you steal the covers I _will_ magic them back from you."

"Right. Well. It's late."

"Very." I sat down and pulled my boots off; Fadik did the same. Once we'd finished a somewhat truncated version of a nightly routine, I put out the lights with a thought (not to show off; I just do it automatically) and we climbed into bed. There followed a few minutes of trying to sort out how to get comfortable. I know from my perspective she was much bigger than Dorian and the bed was somewhat smaller than I was used to. Finally we managed an arrangement that didn't involve any touching. I said, "Good night, Fadik."

There was a moment of silence, then, "Good night, Kai."

And that's how it came to pass that I slept with a Qunari woman.


	28. On the Road Again

I woke suddenly from a dream that had just been veering from irritating into nightmare (I'd been arguing with someone who was insisting I let them tattoo spiders on me while I insisted it wasn't going to happen and it had just started to get ugly) to see the pointy end of a horn hovering an inch from my left eye. I pulled back and rolled onto my left side to avoid it, thinking I might get back to sleep, but it was no use. Ever since I got injured I can't sleep on my left side for long before it gets uncomfortable, and the dream had left me feeling out of sorts. I eased out of bed, got dressed (including strapping on the prosthesis) and slipped downstairs to beg a container of coffee off the innkeeper that I could take back upstairs. By the time Fadik started stirring I was most of the way through my first cup of coffee, seated in front of the mirror at the washbasin as I shaved my head and face.

By the time she got back from her morning ablutions I was finished and on my third cup. "Any sign of life from the party boy?" I asked.

"Not a peep. If he's not up by the time we're done resupplying I'm throwing him on his bloody horse no matter what kind of shape he's in." 

"I heard that, Fadik, and you are a terrible, unfeeling person," Cam announced as he walked into the room. He sat down carefully in one of the chairs. "Are there any healing potions? I feel bloody awful."

"We gave you one last night; suffer," Fadik said.

"Kai?" he gave me sad-puppy eyes. "You can do healing spells, right?"

I snorted. "After a fashion, but I'm not going to. You wanted a proper piss-up; this is the other side of it. Like Fadik said, we already gave you a healing potion last night."

"But I'll slow us down like this," he tried.

Fadik smiled evilly at him. "No you won't. If you feel too poorly you can always ride in the cage with Hissrad."

"You're both wankers," he sulked. "Are you _enjoying_ this?"

"In an _I told you so_ way, absolutely," I said. "I've been where you are before — well, minus the wretched stink you were covered with — so why should you get off the hook when I didn't?"

"What _were_ you covered with?" Fadik demanded.

Cam groaned. "Later. I'll tell you all about it. Can I go get some tea without you lot carrying on at me about how we need to leave?"

"You have until we're done resupplying; make the most of it," Fadik growled. I stood to join her as she headed to the door.

"Um, Kai?" Cam said diffidently. I stopped and gave him a _go ahead_ look. He reached into his money pouch and pulled out a carefully-wrapped package; it was the little dragon carving. He handed it to me saying, "Here. I probably should have, but I didn't break it. You should have it back in case someone else needs it. It was nice of you to make it for me."

I took it back and smiled at him. "Go get some tea. I honestly _do_ know how you feel. And if you're not ready when we get back I _will_ make your life miserable."

**=#=**

We were back on the road in just over an hour. I'd kept an eye out for the tattooed elf all morning; if it weren't for that small piece of vellum in my coat pocket I'd almost think he'd been some kind of phantasm. I found everything about the man unsettling, and I couldn't for the life of me say why. Hissrad had been especially frowny after his night parked by the stables and Cam was still in his own little cloud of achy misery as we set out. Only Fadik seemed in good spirits.

As morning progressed into afternoon the weather went from overcast to an unseasonably cold drizzle. I invoked a minor heat spell ***** without really thinking about it and was reasonably comfortable aside from the wet, but Cam was soon complaining that he was freezing. We finally had to stop so he could dig an extra coat out of his gear. Fadik hadn't said anything, but while we were halted she too went for warmer gear, in her case a grand cape of deep cerulean. Our afternoon stop to spell the horses was spent in relative silence, as though the rain had laid a blanket of introspective gloom over our entire party.

* * *

***** Technically a nascent fire spell, but minimised and restricted to myself. It and the equivalent ice spell are invaluable for personal temperature control. It's how I was able to walk around in the snow-covered heights of the Frostback Mountains without any headwear and the desert heat of the Western Approach in my heavy leather coat and still be comfortable. I can't imagine how the non-mages in our group tolerated it.

* * *

By the time we stopped for the night the rain had let up but everything was still soggy. Fortunately sog was no match for a fire spell and I was able to get a fire going right away. I was on cooking duty while Fadik and Cam dealt with the horses; we all finished about the same time. I then got the distinct joy of bringing Hissrad his food.

He glowered at me as I approached, but that was nothing new. "You want to eat first or do you want me to let you out first?" I asked.

He was silent so long I was ready to just shove his plate at him and leave when he said, "Out."

"Food'll get cold." He made a noise that clearly conveyed _I could give a fuck_ , so I threw on the binding spell and set him up, putting his plate next to him in the cage. Once I'd gone past the reach of his chains, I dismissed the spell and set up my wards. After a moment's thought I went back to the camp proper and brought him an extra blanket, tossing it into the cage while he ate. "I don't know if you Hissrad are allowed to get cold, but the weather's shite tonight," I said to him, maker knows why.

"Even the Qun must acknowledge weather," he said.

I gave a surprised laugh and said, "I'll be back for your plate." Amazing. Hissrad had made a joke. A very small, not overly funny joke, but a joke nonetheless. I found that rather cheering.


	29. Can of Worms

Once dinner was done and everyone was sitting around the fire with their drink of choice (Cam had tried a sip of my coffee, declared it foul and made tea; Fadik was drinking some fruity concoction she'd bought a few containers of at the crossroads), Fadik fixed Cam with a stern glare. "All right, elf, you've had all day to recover; now tell us what happened last night."

He smiled ruefully. "I guess I owe you that. Well. I was already a bit pissed when I left you lot-"

"Well, color me shocked," Fadik said drily.

"Are you going to let me tell this?" Cam demanded.

"Go ahead," I said. "We'll try to keep the editorializing to a minimum."

**~~~**

Cam stepped out of the Red Door feeling uncommonly pleased with himself. He liked both Fadik and Kai just fine, but when it came to certain forms of entertainment they were just plain boring. Even though it didn't rate so much as a small dot on any map, the crossroads was the first settlement of any size they'd been to since Hasmal and it was marvellously dedicated to the twin lures of trade and debauchery. He felt it had been far too long since he'd debauched. He had decided to take Kai's advice and go to the Yellow Shutters despite the fact that the mage had never sampled its wares; he did know a lot about Tevinter, after all. That said, he was in no big hurry to get there. He ambled into the main square where serious trading took place during the day. At this time of night the legitimate traders were gone, replaced by revelers, buskers, scam artists and people selling suspect items in dark corners around the perimeter. His kind of people. 

He joined a small crowd watching a hedge wizard juggling fireballs that were most probably illusory, grew quickly bored and moved on to watch a dwarf at a makeshift stall skillfully running a shell game. Much of what he saw was all but identical to what you'd find in Denerim or any other city down south, but things like the hedge wizard and the prevalence of magically-generated lights served as a reminder that there were elements he was unfamiliar with. He watched the dwarf fleece a burly human whose beard looked like it was supporting its own ecosystem and moved on. Satisfied that he’d gotten a feel for the crossroads, he headed for the Yellow Shutters before he sobered up enough to start questioning his choices. 

The Shutters was easy to spot: the proprietor had gotten some mage to make lights that highlighted the famed window coverings. He ambled inside and was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. There had been a real attempt to make the place look posh, with carpeting and couches and little tables and a long bar along the left hand wall of the place. He wasted no time getting a drink then wandered slowly, assessing what was available. He’d have to remember to tell Kai the reports of anything-you-might-want were true: there were women and men, humans, elves, dwarves and even a Qunari woman. The bartender had outlined the simple rules to him: pick the companion you wanted, negotiate services with them, then pay the imposing-looking woman at the kiosk by the stairway before ascending. You were permitted to tip, and any extra services you might think you could get out of your companion _would_ be paid for before you were allowed to leave. If you followed all the rules they would also give you one complimentary drink before you left. If you didn’t follow the rules they’d still get paid but you’d be in a world of hurt. If you looked closely around the perimeter of the spacious main floor, you could see that the Shutters hadn’t skimped on muscle to back up their rules.

On his second circuit he’d found her. A young human woman with chestnut hair and eyes so deeply brown they verged on black. Her skin was fair and flawless, her body curved in all the right places, her breasts were high and firm and just the right size to- 

_Oh bugger, he was losing his audience. What would have had his friends back in Denerim enthralled was not having the same effect on his current companions. Kai looked bored and Fadik slightly annoyed._

-and she was everything he’d been looking for. They’d negotiated, and suffice to say it had been everything he’d been hoping for. Admittedly quite a bit more expensive than he’d planned, but in his estimation it had been worth it. Sadly, once they were finished he was expected to leave. He went downstairs in a fine mood, stopping to get his free drink. He’d requested whatever the most kick-arse drink in the house was. The bartender had raised an eyebrow, but given him a concoction that tasted smooth and slightly tart going down; it was only a few minutes later that you realized it had the kick of a mule. He’d downed the entire thing and left, weaving only slightly as he walked. He felt quite proud of himself for negotiating the supposed dangers of the crossroads so smoothly and planned on handing Kai’s little dragon back to him with a courtly flourish. To get back to their inn he had to leave the main square; he was quite sure he remembered which meandering sort-of street they had taken to get to the Red Door. 

That was when it dawned on him that he was being followed. 

With that awareness a level of sobriety returned to him as his body started preparing to either fight or run, or more likely some combination of the two. He reached an area where the configuration of haphazardly constructed buildings had left a vaguely pentagonal open space and stopped cold, hands dropping to his knife sheaths. His pursuers stepped out of the shadows. Four dwarves who either still were or had once been Carta; a human boy who looked no older than fifteen or sixteen (though it was a little hard to tell with humans), and a cloaked figure that was probably human from the general shape. The last one waved its hands and a weak, greenish light flooded the area. Mage, then, but not a strong one. “Evening, gents,” he said jauntily, “I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of the nearest bunkhouse, could you? I seem to have spent all my coin tonight.” 

“I don’t suppose,” the dwarf closest to him replied. “I do suppose you should apologize to the lady.” He inclined his head towards the cloaked human. 

She pulled her hood back marginally and gave Cam an evil smile. “What a rude little elf you are. ‘Gents’ indeed.” She waved her hand at him in a complicated pattern; he couldn’t tell if she’d actually cast a spell or if it was just for effect. 

“My apologies, lady,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me...” 

“How do we know you’re out of coin, elf?” another dwarf said. 

He could see that they were all moving subtly towards him, but it was too early to make a move. “You must've seen me come out of the whorehouse,” he replied. “You lot probably know better than I how bloody pricey they are.” 

“Whadda you think?” said a third dwarf. 

“He looks rich to me,” the human boy said. 

Cam reached into his money pouch, felt the little dragon carving, decided he could still get out of this, and pulled out the last of his money instead. “Look, you doss cunts, this is all I have. Just bloody take it and sod off, all right?” he barked and threw the money at the closest dwarf. 

The dwarf looked at the scattering of coins on the ground then up at his companions. “Did you hear what the rude elf called us?” 

“I certainly did,” said the mage. 

“Unforgiveable,” said the dwarf that hadn’t spoken yet. “He needs to be taught respect for his betters.” 

Shite, Cam thought with dismay. These weren’t the slavers that Kai had been worried about; nor were they the muggers that he’d been watching for. They were far worse. They were in every city and in every place like the crossroads: gangs that went out at night with one goal in mind — to hunt people. Usually they were content to beat their victims within an inch of their lives; sometimes they decided to take the extra inch as well. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to run from these sorts of monsters, but he had the disadvantage of being completely unfamiliar with the territory this time. 

As those thoughts flashed through his mind the group had been closing on him.  With silent precision he lashed out with his right-hand dagger, catching not the lead dwarf who’d be expecting it, but the one behind him and slightly to his right. He'd aimed a little too high, so the dagger tore through the dwarf’s cheek rather than his throat. Blood gouted from the wound as Cam continued his spin, slamming his left-hand dagger into the human boy’s gut and yanking it up hard and back out quickly. The boy bellowed in surprised pain. Cam dashed through the space that had opened between the two of them, cloaking himself as he ran down one of the narrow passageways between buildings. He could hear them behind him. He started taking random turns and the moment the opportunity presented itself, clambered up an inexpertly secured drainpipe to the roof of the building he’d been passing. As he had so many times in the past, he now moved stealthily across the rooftops, descending only when he had no choice and only far enough to reach another place where he could re-ascend. He had only the faintest idea where he was now; it looked like he might be approaching the end of the settlement. Finally he sat with his back to the chimney of the flat-roofed building he found himself on. He could see nowhere else to go without heading back towards the centre of town and his pursuers. Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first night he’d spent hiding on a rooftop. He felt the little dragon carving again, decided against breaking it just to avoid a night of discomfort. 

He’d just settled himself a bit more comfortably against the chimney, his heart finally returning to its normal pace, when a cloaked figure came walking toward him. It was the mage. She threw her hood back and gave him that nasty grin. “Well, if it isn’t the rude little elf. We weren’t done with you, elf. Time to play.” 

As he leapt up she’d gestured and a bright light flashed in his eyes, dazzling him at the same time that a loud explosion went off, disorienting him and making his ears ring. She used some other sort of spell to push him forward to the edge of the roof and off. He’d had the presence of mind to go into a roll as he hit the ground (thankfully none of the buildings in the crossroads were very high), but it didn’t matter. The rest of them surrounded him, hitting and kicking and all he could do was pull himself into a fetal position so his back and legs took most of the abuse and hope that it would end before he did. 

_“How did she find him?” Fadik asked._

_“Tracking spell,” Kai explained. “That was that fancy little gesture she made at him.”_

Eventually they tired of their sport, but they weren’t done yet. Cam was barely conscious. He felt them pick him up, faded in and out as they schlepped him an unknown distance. As a final gesture of contempt they returned his daggers to their sheaths and the coin back to his coin pouch. Several of them grabbed him, swinging him a few times before they gave him a powerful toss. He was airborne for a brief moment then splashed into something deep and foul and slippery with rot and slime. He went under, the shock returning him to some semblance of consciousness as he clawed frantically to get to the surface. He had no idea what sort of hellish pit they’d thrown him into; just knew if he didn’t get out he was dead. It seemed to take forever, digging and flailing and sometimes going back under, thrashing back to the surface only to pull himself gasping another few feet. Finally he reached muddy, stinking ground, pulling himself along until he was clear of that ghastly pit and allowed himself to pass out. 

A blast of cold water in his face woke him. He opened his eyes muzzily, could only make out a dark figure standing over him. He groaned in impotent panic, convinced it was the mage woman as the figure conjured a light. It wasn’t her. After a moment of confusion he realized it was the tattooed elf from the card game a thousand years ago. 

“Well, aren’t you a right fucking mess,” the elf said merrily. “Still, you’ll make a most unique calling card. Let’s go then.” 

Cam tried to say he couldn’t go anywhere, he was badly injured, but before he could the elf’s hands started glowing, tendrils of power flowing from his fingers to wrap around Cam. He watched helplessly from inside his own body as the elf made him stand up and follow him like a poorly-jointed puppet. When they reached the inn, the elf sat him down and released him. Cam’s overtaxed body immediately decided it had had enough and he passed out again. He remembered nothing else until he woke up in bed in the morning. 

**~~~**

We both sat there staring at him for a moment once he’d finished. Then Fadik said, “Well… shit.”

“Fuck me,” I said. “I’m sorry, Cam, we had no idea.”

He smiled wryly. “I know you didn’t. Thanks for at least giving me the healing potion last night; I really don’t know exactly what they did to me but it wasn’t good.”

“We should have given you the benefit of the doubt, not just assumed you’d done something idiotic,” Fadik said. “I’m afraid we weren’t very nice to you once the healing potion kicked in.”

He smiled a little more cheerfully. “Well, now you both _owe_ me.”

“I wish we’d known before we left,” I said darkly. “We could have ensured they never get to do that again.”

“Maybe on the way back?” Cam suggested.

“Kai won’t be with us,” Fadik reminded him.

“Give me detailed descriptions. I’ll have to head back to Hasmal sooner or later and I _will_ be stopping in the crossroads,” I said.

“You’re going to take on all six of them yourself?” Fadik scoffed.

“They’re amateurs and scavengers. I’m not,” I said.

“Scavengers can be vicious,” she countered.

“With any luck Cam’s gut wound already took human boy out of the equation.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

“I never suggested I’d take them all on as a group,” I said, though that’s exactly what I had in mind.

“I’ve got to say,” Cam interrupted, “until now I never really understood why people are so afraid of you mages. I mean, both of them just did whatever they wanted and I couldn’t do _anything_ against them. _You_ can do that too, can’t you? Can you _all_ do that?”

Wonderful. He was looking at me with burgeoning fear. “One thing at a time,” I said, being careful to say it kindly. “First thing, Cam — you absolutely could have done something against that woman if you’d been even a bit prepared. From what you’ve described, she’s barely more than a hedge wizard. She cast a weak-arsed light spell that yes, pretty much any mage can do. She put a simple tracking spell on you; if you’d known that’s what she was up to you could have led them straight to us or anywhere else where they wouldn’t dare do anything. I can also show you ways to disrupt something like that. I guarantee she didn’t fly up to that rooftop to get you; she was probably boosted up by her friends.”

“ _Can_ you fly?” he asked.

I laughed. “Maker, no. No mage can. If I could fly do you think I'd be spending weeks crossing the country on bloody horseback?" 

He smiled at that; I'd made no secret of my distaste for the constant tending the horses needed.

I continued, "I knew one woman who was able to shapeshift into a bird, but believe me, she was one of a kind. And she certainly wasn’t interested in pursuing innocent people across rooftops so she could beat them up.”

“What about what that mage woman did to me?” he said plaintively.

“You could do the same to her. That spell she used was a simple flashbang. It’s just a flash of light and a loud noise; you could do the same thing throwing a firework at someone. You just weren’t expecting it. And she pushed you with a force spell. It’s literally no different from going up and physically pushing someone except you can do it from a distance. If she wasn’t ready for it you could just as easily have pushed _her_ off the roof.” I didn't think it was germane at the moment to mention that with sufficient power a force spell could break bones or drive someone into a wall with the force of a heavy crossbow bolt.

He nodded slowly, looking a bit calmer. “So a lot of it seems scarier than it is.”

“Little things like that, yes,” I agreed. “People just don't understand how magic works, so it scares them. We’re not invincible. Some of us are very powerful, yes, but just remember we’re all people too. The scariest, most powerful mage in the world still has to use the privy.”

I figured he’d like that line and I was correct. He laughed softly. "I'll remember that. But what about the other mage? The one with the tattoos?"

"I won't lie to you — that motherfucker's dangerous," I told him. "How dangerous I don't know; I intend to find out. The best thing you can do with people like that is stay far away from them and hope they don't notice you."

He looked at me sharply. "So there are mages that are just as bad as the Chantry says."

I sighed impatiently. "Of course there are bad mages. There are bad _everything_. But it's not like the bloody Chantry says. And Cass- Divine Victoria has been working on the Chantry's attitude towards mages, in case you hadn't heard. It's just unfortunately when mages go bad they tend to go _really_ bad, which makes it that much harder for the rest of us."

Cam cocked his head to one side. "Speaking of that, you never did answer my question: what about you? Where are you on the scale between the woman in that gang and the tattooed bastard?"

I noticed Fadik was listening closely. "Without knowing much about either of them, I'm on the end of the scale with the tattooed bastard, which will hopefully go a ways towards convincing you that not all mages are blood-magic-crazed lunatics who want to enslave the world and are likely to become possessed at any moment."

"So you could do what he did, taking me over like that," he frowned.

"How do you think I keep Hissrad from ripping my liver out every time I let him in and out of the cage?"

"Okay, I admit that's useful," he said, "But what they did to me wasn't to keep themselves safe. The woman wanted to hurt me and to the elf it was just convenient. How many of you can _do_ that spell?"

I frowned. "I haven't the slightest idea. Quite a few, I suppose. You know, just because someone _can_ do a spell doesn't mean they're going to."

"But you're a decent person. What about the mages that aren't? You just said the bad ones are really bad."

"You and how many others are good with daggers. Fadik and how many more are good with swords. Some people are good with their fists. A fuck of a lot of them aren't nice people either," I said irritably. 

"But at least I could fight back," he objected. 

"Oh yes, and everyone _always_ wins against a non-magical opponent." I know I was getting snarky, but I hear that argument so often. 

"What about blood mages?" Cam persisted.

"What about them? They're wankers, most of them. You _are_ aware that there are plenty of non-magical wankers who kill and hurt people for kicks, aren't you? Like four out of the five that went after you?" Now I was getting seriously annoyed.

"It's a question of magnitude and reach, Kai," Fadik chimed in. "You have more of both and that scares the living shit out of people."

"So fine, just lock us all the fuck back up, right? Maker forbid _real_ people feel uncomfortable," I snapped.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, no one said that," Cam said quickly. "I didn't mean to make you feel like you're on trial; I'm just trying to understand."

"I know." I rubbed my eyes and stood up. "Just… give me a moment. I'll be back." I walked away, leaving them staring wide-eyed. I knew I was overreacting, but at times it gets to me, having to defend my very existence, let alone my right to walk around freely in the world like everyone else can without a second thought. I was also tired of horses, tired of travelling, tired of being treated like I could somehow speak for every mage in Thedas just because I happened to be one. I knew part of it was simply I missed Dorian and being able to talk to someone with whom conversation was utterly effortless. I gazed at the moonlit landscape and tried to calm down and think sensibly. From far off to my right came our prisoner's voice, "Mage."

It was about the worst thing he could have said. I approached just close enough to his cage that I could see him and said, "If you can't call me Kai then just fuck off, Hissrad. I'm in no mood." I walked away before he had a chance to respond. I was starting to really want a drink, and that pissed me off too. 

I found a rocky outcropping and sat on a flat spot. Now that the Silent Plains were behind us, the moonlight just looked like moonlight. Along with missing Dorian, I wondered how my friends in Hasmal were, and if my wonderful new arm was ready, and how Swivet and Mikal’s cat were getting along. Everything and everyone I cared about seemed very far away at that moment. I wondered why the mage who had such a hate on for me in Hasmal felt that way. I really wondered how long I could keep travelling from Hasmal to Minrathous and back before the lengthy time spent on the road got to me; it was starting to already. I wondered if Fen’Harel was going to be able to successfully launch his all-elf return to the good old days and render all my other musings moot. I heard a whisper of movement as Cam approached and sat down beside me. For a time neither of us said anything. Finally Cam ventured, "How are you doing?"

"Just thinking that I miss my nug," I said.

He blinked. "You have a nug?"

"His name's Swivet. A good friend gave him to me when he was a pup. You know, he doesn't give a damn that I'm a mage. He just likes me."

"Where is he now?"

"Back in Hasmal. A friend's taking care of him while I'm gone."

After a few more minutes of silence, Cam said, "I never had a pet. The alienage was no place for a pet and since then I've never lived anywhere long enough. Do they make good pets, nugs?"

"Yes."

"Maybe when I'm old and established like you I'll get one."

I looked over to see him smirking. "Arse. You're not _that_ much younger than me."

He stood up, rubbing his hands together briskly. "I'm gonna get back to the fire; it's cold out here." He hesitated, then reached out and gave my right shoulder a friendly squeeze. "For what it's worth, I don't give a damn that you're a mage either; I like you just fine," and he trotted away.

That made me smile and also made me feel like a bit of an ass. Here he'd gotten beaten half to death the night before and he was trying to make _me_ feel better because I'd gotten into another sulk about the whole mage thing. Every time I think I've finally got my shit together it seems something happens to remind me I can be just as self-centred and unreasonable as everyone else. I stood and stretched and returned to the fire, where they both did me the kindness of acting as though nothing had happened. We played a few hands of cards and talked about nothing in particular until Cam stood and declared that he felt utterly knackered and was going to turn in. I offered to take first watch again; Fadik looked at me speculatively, but agreed. It wasn't long before quiet descended over the camp. I found a comfortable vantage point and waited.


	30. Dorian

"Can you talk tonight?"

"As long as we don't get raided, yes. I've got hours before I have to wake Fadik. What's going on?"

"I'm worried, amatus, yet there's nothing specific I can point to. I wish you were here to just… observe. You've an uncanny knack for spotting things that are amiss."

"You mean aside from the attempt on Marius? That sounded pretty blatant." I sipped some coffee and tried to find a more comfortable position.

"Ah, but that sort of thing is expected," Dorian said with bleak cheer. "If it were just that I wouldn't be terribly worried. It's like there's something ugly brewing just below the surface here."

"I thought that was the definition of Minrathous politics," I said.

"Yes, but it's a different _sort_ of ugly. _Venhedis_. How am I supposed to explain it when _I'm_ not entirely sure what I mean?"

I smiled even though he couldn't see me. "Don't worry. I know what you mean. I've felt the same sort of thing myself more than once and it usually turns out to be correct."

“You were supposed to tell me I’m jumping at shadows.”

“But I know you’re more perceptive than that. I’ve also gotten the same feeling in the last day.”

“About what’s going on _here_? If so, your powers of perception have veered into the realm of the unnatural.”

I laughed. “I’m not _that_ good. Remember last night I asked you if you knew a tattooed Laetan elf?”

“Vaguely. It sounded like the setup for a joke. Then you had to go running off to take care of your elf friend.”

“Yeah, that turned out to be more than we expected as well. I’ll come back to that. But this fellow’s no joke.” I described everything that had occurred between us. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I swear, Dorian, the feeling I get off the wanker is like- like venomous spiders crawling over my soul.”

“Why is it that every time you wax poetic it’s about something ghastly?” he demanded. “I have the strangest things to boast about with you: _Oh yes, my lover writes the most exquisite verse to suicide to._ ”

“It’s a gift,” I said cheerfully.

“Vel Docilus,” Dorian mused, turning the elf’s name over on his tongue, “it honestly doesn’t ring a bell. I’m sure I’d remember him if I’d seen him. Let me look into it; that way by the time you get up here we may have a better idea what we’re dealing with. Oh! Names — that reminds me!”

“Of what?” I could hear the pleased triumph in his voice. 

“I know who you’re looking for for Cass.”

“Asina? You’ve got a name?”

“I do, and it’s rather fascinating. The Asina you’re after is Kaeso.”

“Kaeso, hm? What’s so fascinating about him? Well, aside from the whole cold-blooded murderer thing.”

“He’s a deep, dark secret in the Asina clan; most won’t even admit he exists. You see, he’s the worst thing an Altus family can produce: a child who’s perfect in every way except he doesn’t possess one _whit_ of magical talent.”

“That happens even with all your breeding programs, does it?”

“Now and then. The families are uniformly mortified when it does. Sometimes real ugliness occurs. UnTalented children have been abandoned or outright killed; mothers have been accused of infidelity by fathers who can’t bear the thought that they had a hand in producing a handicapped child. It appears Kaeso is one of the lucky ones: they just sent him away and pretend he never existed. I don’t know where he was sent or what sort of circumstances he was raised in, though.”

“Well, we know he went down to Orlais and murdered a relative of Cass that kind of deserved it and a Chantry sister that definitely didn’t. That’s brilliant, though, love. At least it gives me somewhere to start.”

“It _was_ rather brilliant,” he said happily. “I assure you, the Asinas did _not_ want that information to be known. Perhaps I should consider a side career ferreting out information people don’t want to come to light.”

“You’d undoubtedly be very good at that,” I agreed. “You’ve always loved researching in dusty old tomes far more than you let on.”

“And you’re not to breathe a word of that,” he admonished me. “My reputation for cutting wit and exquisite fashion sense does not allow for tomes, dusty or otherwise.”

“Fine. If anyone should see any around your house you can tell them I use them when I write my melodic doom poetry.”

“It _would_ explain your penchant for wearing black.”

From there the conversation became increasingly silly and then veered briefly into romantic nonsense that’s nobody’s business but ours. Eventually I remembered to tell him what had happened to Cam, which led to a cheerfully bloodthirsty conversation about what to do to the gang of thugs and possible murderers, followed by a far more serious dissection of what could be causing Dorian’s feelings of unease. It was frustrating having to examine things at a distance, but at least I was making progress towards Minrathous and may even have uncovered a previously unknown threat in Vel Docilus. We ended with romantic nonsense again and I signed off feeling much calmer; talking to Dorian tends to have that effect on me.

I woke Fadik for her turn at watch and went to bed, where I slept remarkably well, once again only being awakened by the bloody horses’ bloody morning racket.

**=#=**

The majority of the next day was uneventful and rather quiet. Hissrad seemed annoyed — well, more annoyed than usual — with me and refused to speak, which didn’t really break my heart. Cam was subdued, spending a great deal of time yawning. Most likely he still had some recovering to do from his ordeal at the crossroads, though he could have just been getting sick of the endless grind of travelling. Fadik seemed lost in thought, answering most attempts at conversation with monosyllables until both Cam and I gave up talking to her.

Personally I was once again chafing at the amount of time it was taking to reach our destination. Assuming Fen’Harel _didn’t_ manage to destroy the world, Dorian and I were going to have to have a talk. It would be one thing if he and I were a few hours or even a few day’s travel apart, but it was several days every time, both directions, and much as I enjoyed some parts of the trip, I was getting heartily sick of it. It wasn’t fair to me; it wasn’t fair to Sera and the Jennys; it wasn’t fair to my other friends who were looking after my things every time I was gone; it was horribly unfair to Swivet, who still remained so terribly fond of me even though I kept leaving him. At the same time, I didn’t want to stay away from Minrathous and just the thought of leaving Dorian made me feel slightly ill. The whole thing was giving me a headache.

It was late afternoon and we were making an extra push to get some more miles in before the horses crapped out for the night. I was trying to craft a conversation with Dorian in my head that delivered some sort of ultimatum without making it _sound_ like an ultimatum but was running into trouble because I really wasn’t sure how he’d react. So my mind was cheerfully making each and every scenario end in disaster and this in turn was making me cross even though it was my own mind doing it to me. I barely even registered Fadik bringing her horse in close to ride beside me.

“Kai,” she said, making me jump slightly, “we need to talk.”

 _Andraste’s big, feathery balls, talk about bloody what_ I thought, but all I said was, “What about?” This is known as diplomacy.

“Who is Dorian?”

I blinked stupidly at her, briefly wondering if she was able to read minds. “Excuse me?”

“Dorian. Who is he or she?” she reiterated.

“ _He_ is my lover. Boyfriend. Partner. Whatever you bloody call it when you’ve been together for years but you’re not married,” I over-explained. Really, there doesn’t seem to be a good word for it. Maybe I should just start using _amatus_ like Dorian does; it seems appropriately descriptive. “Why?”

“More than once now I have gotten up in the night and heard you talking to someone. Then in the crossroads I heard your coat make noise. I told you and you said ‘Dorian’ and went haring upstairs like a scalded cat.”

“You’re mixing your animal metaphors,” I said. “What of it?”

“ _Are_ you talking to him?”

I still wasn’t following what the big deal was. “Yes. So?”

“So _how_ are you talking to him?”

Oh. “Magic,” I said shortly. “He’s a mage too.” Not that that had a thing to do with it. I just didn’t want to show her or anyone else the sending crystal. Without it I couldn’t contact Dorian and that simply wasn’t a consideration.

“Can all mages communicate so?”

“No. It’s just between us and we can only talk to each other, so you’ve nothing to worry about.”

She gave me a hard look. “And you can’t tell me how you do this?”

“I could, but then I’d have to kill you,” I said.

Her eyes widened and her hand went to her sword hilt.

“Fadik, for fucks sake, I’m _joking_ ,” I yelped. “Maker’s breath, I forgot for _one second_ that you Qunari have a dicey relationship with humour.”

“I have a very well-developed sense of humour,” she said humourlessly, “but that was not funny.”

I rubbed my temples, trying to stave off the headache that had been threatening all day. “Fine. I’ll try to remember that you don’t consider that humour. And no, Fadik, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to tell you or anyone else how I talk to Dorian. It’s personal, it’s private and it’s no threat to you or anyone else. Can you please just accept that?”

"He lives here in Tevinter?"

I sighed. "Yes. I can't imagine how you figured that out. That was sarcasm, by the way, mostly at my own expense."

She ignored my editorial comment. “Is that why you’re going to Minrathous?”

“Partly. He lives there, but that’s not the only reason I’m going this time.” I saw no reason to deny it.

She made a non-committal grunt but continued riding next to me. I waited for whatever was still bothering her to drop. “Other times it is solely for that reason,” she finally said.

I looked at her quizzically. “Yes?”

“It’s a long trip.”

“Yes, very,” I agreed, no doubt sounding as irritable as I felt.

"And dangerous."

"It can be, yes."

“But you find it worthwhile.”

“Well, yes.” I tried unsuccessfully to figure out where she was going with her questions. “Occasionally annoying, but yes, it’s worthwhile.”

“Why?”

Several answers flitted through my mind, but really there was only one that predicated all the others. I shrugged. “Because I love him.”

“You love him."

I gave her a sideways smile. “Nauseating, isn’t it?”

She finally quirked a smile back at me. “You said it, not me.” She clucked at her horse and left me to my thoughts.


	31. Then There Are the Days You Don't Even Get Breakfast

The attack came early in the morning. We’d had a quiet night. Hissrad had continued to give me the silent treatment, but any tension between Fadik, Cam and myself was gone and we had an amiable evening. I took first watch again, checked in with Dorian — who was in a chatty mood — and spent most of my watch talking with him, then handed off to Fadik and crawled into bed.

Then next thing I was aware of was Cam shouting, “Raiders! They’re not on horseback but they’re coming fast and they’re bloody big and there’s _loads_ of them!”

I was out of bed before I was even fully awake. Given the lack of time, I just bullshittingly strapped on the prosthesis and hoped it would hold, pulled on my trousers, boots and coat. I then took an extra minute to open the box I'd carried with me from Hasmal and remove the three grenades from it, placing them carefully in a pouch I tied to the belt of my coat. Perhaps five minutes after I heard Cam, I was out of the tent, joining him at the north end of the camp; Fadik joined us moments later. Cam pointed at the raiders, though at this point they were clear to all of us.

"Tal-Vashoth," Fadik growled, ignoring the fact that she was now Tal-Vashoth as well.

It was a bit difficult to be sure, but I thought I counted nine of them, all Qunari. They may have started out trying to be stealthy, but as the pre-dawn light grew stronger they had given that up in favour of simply advancing on us, probably confident that their sheer size and numbers promised them an easy victory.

"Andraste's tits, we're bloody dead," Cam groaned.

"I've fought that many before. We can take them," I told him. "Just watch out for the ones that can cloak themselves — they're a pain in the arse. And if you can possibly avoid it don't let them hit you point blank or get hold of you. That's where their size can fuck you up. You any good with a bow?"

He shook his head. "Never learned. I can suddenly see the attraction."

"Just use your size and your speed. You know what to do," I said. At least I hoped he knew what to do. This would be the first combat I'd been in with either of them, which meant it was going to start out awkward as they didn't know my fighting style and I didn't know theirs. "I'll cover both of you as much as I can."

"What are you going to be doing?" Fadik asked.

"Whatever it takes. No time to discuss tactics. They're close enough we'd better start doing something, and since I'm our only distance fighter, I'll get things started." The Qunari were drawing close now. They'd arranged themselves in loose squads of three; I expected at least one of those to break off soon and try to enter our camp from another direction. I chose the group that was closest and removed one of the grenades from my belt pouch. It buzzed sullenly. I aimed, taking into account the rate they were coming towards us, and threw (thankfully for some odd reason I've always thrown right-handed, so my aim wasn't for shit), giving the grenade just a little nudge with a force spell. It hit directly in front of them, smashing open to release its cargo of enraged bees. I stood still for just a moment, enjoying the instant chaos the bees caused, hit them with a freezing spell to slow them down and let the bees have at them a bit more then wheeled around to head off the flanking groups as best I could. Fadik and Cam must have been strategizing, because as I approached them she headed straight at the panicking Qunari while Cam joined me. I threw barrier spells on all of us and signalled I was heading to our left. Cam kept up easily.

"I'm going to throw some area spells on them," I told him. "Should keep them busy enough that you can do some damage."

He nodded and ran ahead, fading from view as he did. I spared a moment's regret for the cloaking ring I had — I'd put it somewhere safe about a year and a half ago and promptly forgotten where it was. As I'd expected, a group of three Qunari were circling around, unknowingly coming straight for us. I waited until they were far from any cover and laid a barrage of fireballs on them, following that up with a chain lightning spell. Sadly, none of them dropped dead on the spot, but it did throw their little squad into chaos. As they tried to regroup, I saw Cam suddenly appear to one side of them. He threw a grenade of his own, enveloping them in a cloud of choking gas, ducked back and to the side, waiting until one stumbled out away from his mates, then went to work with his knives. His first cuts were a few viciously deep ones to the backs of the Qunari's legs that sent him down to the ground, hamstrung. I threw a refresher barrier spell on Cam as he plunged a dagger into the Qunari's throat, nailed the remaining raiders with my second bee grenade to keep them busy and reversed direction to intercept the second flanking team.

They were already nearly in the camp. I borrowed a page from the hedge wizard that attacked Cam and threw a series of flashbang spells at them, as they were simple, effective and took very little power. It disoriented the three of them momentarily, but they'd obviously encountered flashbangs before because they shrugged off the effects quickly, looking amused. They believed they had me pegged as another amateur mage, I imagine. One had a bow; he dropped back, keeping his distance as the other two advanced. I lobbed another flashbang at him just to occupy him for a moment. Times like this I missed having Sera and Dorian working with me; we could have taken out both flanking squads in a matter of minutes. At least Fadik was doing a fine job of filling The Iron Bull's role, her greatsword taking a heavy toll on our opponents.

I turned my attention to the closest of the two raiders armed with swords, letting loose with a beast of an ice spell that stopped him in his tracks. Working quickly, before the bitter cold could wear off, I gathered as much power as I could, forming it into a tightly-channeled force spell that I flung at him with every bit of will I had. It was going to drain everything I had for a minute, but I got the satisfaction of seeing the spell hit and literally shatter him to pieces where he stood.

"Kai!" I heard Fadik shout as something hit me hard and high in my back. I went down to my knees, turned the fall into a roll and scrambled to my feet to see a big Qunari bearing down on me, blood streaking his arms and torso. He brought a sword the size of a sapling up and swung at me. I hadn't quite recovered enough power after my force spell, so I brought my left arm up to block. The sword hit, my hasty job of strapping gave out and the prosthesis fell off. He shouted in savage triumph as he saw what appeared to be my forearm hit the ground. Triumph became confusion when he turned his attention back to me. Rather than the pain and panic he expected, I gave him a diabolical grin ( _at least that's what I was aiming for; I've been told my eyebrows lend themselves to diabolical looks)_ and conjured a sword of my own. It may be made of magic and only conjurable for minutes at a time, but it gutted him quite handily.

I took a moment to glance around, spotted Fadik in a sword-to-sword battle with one of the raiders and threw a barrier spell on her. Off to my left I heard Cam yelp and swear: the archer had managed to sink an arrow into him just below and to the right of his throat. There was no time to piss about with the prosthesis, so I just picked it up and ran with it, throwing a bolt of electricity at the archer. Cam was yanking the arrow out and swearing a blue streak. I cast a weak healing spell on him (wishing again that I had more ability with healing magic) and then a barrier spell. Cam nodded his thanks and downed a proper healing potion to finish the job.

I felt arrows hitting my coat as the archer started in again, but the coat was more than up to the job of repelling them as I tried to assess what was happening around me. Fadik had dispatched the raider she'd been fighting and was now in a pitched battle with another. At a quick glance it looked like we'd each taken two raiders out which left three? four? to deal with. I fired another heavy force spell, not at the archer himself but at his bow, and was gratified to see it go flying. I started readying a kill shot when I caught movement off to the side. I spun to counter the raider that was speeding towards me, lips pulled back in a feral snarl as he raised a nasty-looking axe, when my foot slipped on a gobbet of flesh from the raider I'd shattered earlier. I went down hard on my arse, and the raider hesitated as I disappeared from his view. I cast the force spell I'd been readying; due to the change in our relative positions it hit him square in the crotch. He howled and doubled over and Cam appeared out of nowhere, kicking the raider in the jaw with every bit of force his right leg could impart. The Qunari gave a guttural grunt and went over like a sack of potatoes. Cam checked him quickly, determined the kick hadn’t been a kill shot, and finished him off with a knife to the throat. I nodded my thanks as he gave me a hand up. 

I couldn't see Fadik anymore, but could hear the sounds of combat not far away. "Any idea how many are left?" I asked Cam.

"Aside from the wanker with the bow? One or two, I think," he replied.

"That's what I thought too. Go help Fadik. I'll take care of the archer." I wrapped one of the prosthesis' straps around the belt of my coat so it hung like a rather morbid trophy and dug my last grenade out of its pouch, handing it to Cam. "Here: bee grenade, just in case you need it. They could easily have sent one or two extra men to go after the horses or whatever they're bloody after while the rest of them keep us busy. Just remember — the bees are seriously pissed off and they don't care who they attack so keep your distance if you use it. And be fucking careful that it doesn't break before you want it to."

He grinned. "Gotcha, boss."

"Hang on one second." I cast a barrier spell on both of us then waved him on. A moment later an arrow came flying at my head and glanced harmlessly off the barrier. Apparently the archer had recovered his bow. I threw a few flashbangs out just to annoy him while I searched for his new location. He had clambered up on top of the cage cart of all places. Hissrad was sitting on the floor below him watching impassively. I used my newly re-mastered fade cloak spell to sprint to better cover before he saw what I was doing. It wasn't much, just a low hedgerow, but it made it possible for me to get closer to him without his noticing. He was scanning the area calmly, an arrow nocked in his bow. 

I saw Hissrad look straight at me, but he did nothing to alert the raider. _Then again,_ I thought, _why should he? He'd probably find it delightful to watch the foreign scum mage and the Tal-Vashoth kill each other._ I wanted to take the archer out quickly, which meant tightly focused spells delivered fast and hard. It was the sort of thing a staff actually helped with, since focusing and channeling magic was the primary function of the thing. Unfortunately, my staff was stuffed back in my tent and the prosthesis wasn't much use. Oh well. I readied the spells I thought would be most effective and stood so I could get a better trajectory. The archer wheeled with uncanny speed and let loose an arrow. I slammed a barrier up, but felt the damned thing graze my right cheek and ear. _Shite, that was too close._

I hit him low with a freezing spell followed immediately with a force spell so his reactions were slowed enough that the force spell was able to knock him off the cage cart. He landed with an audible thud and a woody snap that gave me hope his bow had borne the brunt of his fall.

He shook off the freezing effects with remarkable speed and gave an angry bellow that suggested my hope had been realized. As I'd seen so many times before, he apparently decided that running straight at me was now his happiest option. I watched several hundred pounds of enraged Qunari coming at me with murder in his eyes and renewed my barrier. As he roared up to me he reached out, presumably to separate my head from my body. I conjured a sword again and swung hard, not really aiming but figuring anything I hit was fair game. It glanced off his muscular slab of a chest and bit halfway through his right forearm. Unfortunately, all it seemed to do was piss him off. He howled inarticulately and swung at me with a fist the size of a ham that undoubtedly would have fractured my skull if I'd been stupid enough to keep standing there. Instead I'd invoked the fade cloak spell and moved a few paces away. The downside to that spell was it took a lot of power, so I couldn't hit him with a big one right away. Instead I flashbanged him in the face and dived underneath the cage and out the other side.

He was angry, not stupid, so he spun around immediately and faced me; he must have realized that madly charging wasn't effective. He grinned and growled, "A mage that can fight? This is a _good_ day. Let's go, human. I'm going to enjoy snapping your neck."

I grinned back at him. "You can try, _Vashedan_ , but I've killed more of your kind than you're likely able to count."

He scowled, "Enough talk. Time for you to die," and started circling the cart towards me. He still seemed convinced that his sheer size made him invincible.

I refreshed my barrier and got ready to spellcast and run simultaneously if need be. He bent down and scooped up a rock from the ground; as he threw it I cast a binding spell. The rock bounced harmlessly off my barrier, and the binding spell slid off him with equal effect. He laughed, "You all try that same spell. I'm protected from it."

I shrugged. "Just checking. Just like you and your rock. I'm curious — what is it you came here for?"

"Horses. Goods. Supplies. The usual," he said. 

"I thought as much. Suppose you’re wearing some sort of protection against magical attack?”

“Of course. Too many of you stinking mages in Tevinter.” _Well, that explained why it was taking high-powered spells just to knock him on his ass._

“No need to be rude,” I chided him. “Shall we?”

As an answer he charged at me again. And they wonder why people call them ox-men. I barriered and flashbanged him. As he blinked, trying to clear the bright spots from his vision, I conjured the sword, aiming to bring it down hard on his neck. Unfortunately, he moved his head and I ended up shearing off a chunk of his left horn instead. I could swear I heard Hissrad chuckle in the background.

“You don’t know shit about using a sword,” the raider scoffed.

“You’re not exactly a font of genius moves yourself,” I scoffed back. 

He growled and I threw a fireball in his face. Whatever protections he had on kept it from burning him much, but it re-dazzled his eyes and annoyed him more. _Angry people make mistakes._

He backed up against the front of the cart, blinking and shaking his head. “You’re pissing me off, human,” he growled.

“My deepest apologies,” I replied. "If you'd like to leave, I'll understand."

He glared at me, blinked again and said, “What’s with the human arm?”

“It fell off. I thought I might club you to death with it.”

He frowned. “If that’s supposed to be a joke it is not funny.”

“Every one of you is humour-impaired,” I replied. I could see he was casting about for something to use as a weapon, so I fired a few bolts of electricity at him both to interrupt him and to see if he was protected against it.

“Stop tickling me,” said Ser Witty. Suddenly his face lit up with an ugly grin I didn’t like one bit. “Well, well, _well_ , what’s this?” he crowed.

Shite. He’d found the horsewhip we never used. It had come with the cart; we’d left it there and forgotten about it. I barriered again and started backing up as he unfurled it and cracked it experimentally. He gave me another ugly grin. “Good whip. Good reach. Gonna enjoy cutting you to ribbons.”

“Go ahead and try, you bloody great dumb ox,” I snapped back and fired a force spell at him purely to knock him on his arse because I knew it would work.

He hit the ground with a grunt and jumped up again far too quickly, lashing out with the whip. I jumped back and watched the tip ineffectively clip my coat. Now he pressed forward, lashing at me with the whip and forcing me to stay on the defensive. I conjured the sword and attempted to hack the bloody whip apart, but the bastard actually had some skill with the thing and kept me from doing more than knocking it away.

We circled the area around the cage cart in an awkward dance. He couldn’t do much to me as my heavy leather coat and boots deflected the bulk of his attacks with the whip when my barriers wore out, and I couldn’t do much to him because of the protections he was wearing. I wouldn’t let him get close enough to physically attack, but by the same token aside from that early hit to his arm, I hadn’t been able to get near enough to him to use the sword to any effect. It was becoming an endurance contest. I toyed with the idea of fade cloaking and walking right through him, but decided against it. If his protections defended against it, then rather than do him serious damage I’d just put myself in arm’s reach, unable to do much but flashbang him until I’d recovered some power.

“I can keep this up longer than you, human,” he taunted. “It’s just a matter of time; might as well take your punishment now.”

 _Too bad I can’t do earth magic,_ I thought, _could just open a hole underneath him and his protections wouldn’t do shite for him._ In that moment of distraction he landed a lucky hit, clipping my right cheek almost exactly where his arrow had grazed me earlier. This time I felt a line of heat, then wet as I started bleeding. The raider let out a shout of triumph. I knocked him back with a force spell again, pounded him with electric bolts for good measure, then cast one of my less-than-stellar healing spells on myself. It worked, but I was sure my face looked like the injury was grievous. I’d bled like a stuck pig for the minute the wound was there.

The Qunari raider climbed back to his feet looking jubilant. I tried to chase the tail of the thought I’d been having when the whip had hit me while keeping him busy with spells to unbalance and half-blind him. I had an idea forming that was risky but might just work. Briefly I wished I could still do the spell that opened a momentary rift, but that had disappeared along with the Anchor embedded in my left hand. I stopped throwing any spells at him but the simple little flashbangs as I prepared, lining up spells in my mind as I loosened the strap anchoring the prosthesis to my coat belt. He took my lack of retaliation to be that I was tiring and pressed harder, becoming wilder and less cautious as he envisioned victory in his grasp.

I backed up, letting him think he was chasing me as I led him to the place I needed to go. I’d have to hope that Hissrad planned on continuing his policy of non-interference as I approached the cage cart. When I reached the right spot, I feigned a stumble, tripping on the water bucket we’d provided Hissrad , kicking it so the water spilled out towards my opponent. It wasn’t much, but it formed the base I needed.

The raider bought my act and sprinted forward. I cast a freezing spell, not at the raider, but at the ground beneath him, using the spilled water as a base to build a sheet of ice that was perfectly smooth. The raider’s feet went out from under him and he fell hard on his back, sliding uncontrolled until he hit the edge of my ice patch. While he was taking his impromptu ride I used a force spell on the whip, ripping it out of his hand, and fade cloaked over to him, using its temporary invulnerability to ensure nothing interrupted my approach. I kicked him in the side of the head then hit him point blank in the face with a hardened ice ball, using the last of my power to do it, just to make sure he didn’t get up too quickly. What I did next was neither elegant nor pretty. As he lay there dazed, I jumped on top of him and, just as I promised, beat his fucking head in with the prosthesis.

Once it was clear he’d never be getting up again, I rolled off him and lay on the ground breathing heavily. I heard Hissrad somewhere nearby. He was laughing with what sounded like genuine amusement. At that moment I was too spent to even think of something pithy to say to him. I hoped the other two had managed to take care of whatever raiders were left, because I had nothing more to offer.

A few minutes later I was at least breathing normally, but it felt too good to just lie there. My right shoulder and arm were sore from caving the Qunari’s head in and I knew it would get worse as the day wore on. I heard Cam say, “Maker’s breath — Kai!” but didn’t really register that it might be nice if I said something. In moments Cam and Fadik were standing over me, identical looks of concern on their faces. “Kai, say something,” Fadik demanded.

“Did you get the others?” I said.

“They’re all dead,” Fadik confirmed. “Are you badly hurt? Can you stand?”

“Um. No and yes.” I pushed myself into a sitting position. “Just out of breath.”

“You looked dead,” Cam said.

I pointed at the raider with my head. “No, that looks dead.”

“That is…impressive,” Fadik said. “What’d you use to manage that?”

“My arm. The fake one. Where is it; does it show?” I looked around but couldn’t see it.

“It’s right here.” Cam picked it up and immediately dropped it again. “Andraste’s tits, what’s all over it?”

“His brains, more than likely,” I said.

“You can’t see anything, but you really might want to wash it,” Cam said.

“I wonder how badly I buggered it up,” I mused.

“Right now _you_ should get cleaned up,” Fadik said sternly. “You should see yourself. Are you sure you’re not injured?”

“Yeah. He clipped my face with the whip, but I healed it already. Any other blood is all courtesy of the raiders. I’m just sore.” I let her help me to my feet and had a first look at my handiwork. “Fuck me, guess I was a little overly enthusiastic,” I murmured. His head pretty much looked like lumpy paste. “Still, it was no more than he was going to do to me.”

Fadik grinned at me. “Guess you _can_ fight, mage.”

I smirked back. “And you seem to know a few more moves than hollering and flailing, warrior.”

“How about we clean things up and get out of here,” Fadik suggested.

I nodded. “Sounds like a fine idea. I should get my arm.”

I ripped a strip off the raider’s shirt and used it to pick up the arm, and for a good hour or so after that we did nothing but clean up and break down the camp. We left the raiders where they had fallen. We’d inform authorities in the next town that they were there. _Maybe there’ll be a reward,_ Cam said brightly. Maybe there would.


	32. You Can Always Change Your Mind Along the Way

A few hours later we happened on an inn that had situated itself at a turnoff to several settlements to the northeast that I’d never been to. No one felt like cooking after all the energy we’d expended, so we stopped to eat and let someone else tend to the bloody horses for once. The food was one of your basic variations on stew, but it wasn’t half bad and it was filling.

Once we’d eaten, no one was in a big hurry to get back on the road — myself included this time — so we ordered a round of drinks. To my surprise, the beer they served was actually quite palatable and I finally started to feel a bit relaxed. Fadik looked like she was moments away from falling asleep, but Cam was studying me intently.

“Something wrong?” I asked him.

“No, I was just thinking,” he said.

“Do you have to stare at me while you think? You’re making me self-conscious. Like I must have food in my teeth or something.”

He smiled. “Sorry. I was thinking about mages. I think I’ve changed my mind about you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You _me_ or you _mages_?”

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “Both, I guess. I never saw a real mage in a fight before today; I’d only heard tales and Fadik.”

Fadik opened her eyes marginally wider. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, the tales are always about, like, one mage flattening an army single-handed and that always sounded like a load of bollocks to me. But Fadik’s always going on about mages like they’re a load of wet blankets that spend most of their time hiding from real combat and act like a great lot of poncy pillocks the rest of the time.”

“Most of the ones I’ve met _are_ like that, present company excluded,” Fadik stated firmly.

I chuckled. “I have to admit there is some truth to that. But go on, Cam.”

“Right.” He took a drink of beer and stifled a burp. “I’ve heard other mercs talk about wanting a good mage on their team, but I never really knew why until today. That was, like, bloody amazing. _We_ took out near on a dozen sodding Qunari raiders; just _three_ of us. If we hadn’t had you fighting with us they would’ve slaughtered us.”

“Actually there were nine of them, but Cam’s right,” Fadik said. “I’m impressed; you come by your reputation honestly.”

“ _What_ reputation?” I finally thought to ask. “I’ve been too busy to find out what it is.”

“That if you’re available, hire you. You’re easy to get along with, you know Tevinter and you’re damn good in combat. All true, it turns out.”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt again,” I said to Cam. “I just kept hearing about this reputation of mine.”

“S’okay. I just… after the crossroads I wasn’t sure about you or _any_ mages. But now I think we should definitely think about adding one to the team. But only if they have their shite together like you.”

I snorted, “I certainly hope they have theirs together better than I do. But thank you, Cam. Do understand that most mages don’t have the combat experience I do though.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think we’d get someone as good as you, but you had to start somewhere too. You just showed me that not all of you are bloody lunatic bastards or total wilting flowers. I get that now. And I get that I need to watch out for the ones that _are_ evil wankers because you lot can be scary lethal.”

“That’s… all very true,” I said, taking a drink. “I’m glad I could help clarify things for you.”

“There’s just two things I really want to know now,” he continued.

“And those would be?”

“You said you could show me how to disrupt a tracking spell…”

I nodded. “I’ll be sure to do that for both of you before we part ways. And the other?”

He grinned widely, “Where do you get those bee grenades? Those things are the mutt’s nuts.”

**=#=**

Once we got back on the road, we made good time and travelled well past dusk (with the obligatory must-cater-to-the-horses stops). Much as I enjoyed my companions, I was chafing to make it to Marnus Pell and Minrathous. Dinner was a slapdash affair of whatever was easiest to throw in the pot; while Fadik was cooking, I went to let Hissrad out of his cage for the night.

He said nothing as we went through the usual routine for setting him up, and I figured the silent treatment was continuing. As I turned to walk away I got the shock of my life when I heard him say, “Kai.”

I turned back to him. “Hissrad. Something you want?”

“This morning. You fought well, with intelligence and restraint. I did not expect this.”

I wasn’t sure beating a man to death with a prosthetic arm constituted restraint, but I wasn’t about to argue the point. “Thank you for noticing,” I said.

“You did this without direction and did not rely entirely on magic,” he continued. I waited, not sure where he was going with this. “You have also acted consistently with a sort of honour most _bas_ do not possess. I have decided you are _Basalit-an_. Do you know what this means?”

I cudgeled my memory for the answer; it had been a very long time since I’d had a reason to speak any Qunlat and I’d never known much in the first place. “I’m sorry,” I told him, “I know _bas_ , but I don’t think I’ve ever heard that particular phrase.”

“It means you are _bas_ , but worthy of respect. We do not give this designation lightly, particularly to _bas saarebas._ ”

I inclined my head in a single nod; Qunari aren’t big on enthusiastic demonstrations. “Thank you, Hissrad. I did not expect that.”

“Had you expected it, I would never have given you that distinction,” he said. I wasn’t sure if that was another stab at humour or just a statement of fact. He looked at me appraisingly. “You would make a good enemy.”

“You’ll excuse me if I prefer that statement remain hypothetical,” I replied, “I’ve got enough of those to contend with already.”

He made a non-committal noise and didn’t speak further, so I just said, “Your food’ll be ready shortly,” and left. I didn’t tell the others about our exchange; it felt private and made no difference in the grand scheme of things.


	33. Passages

That night and following day passed uneventfully, as though the raider attack had used up our quota of excitement for one trip. I was increasingly cheerful as the next afternoon would finally see us reach Marnus Pell. Fadik was equally pleased, as we could hand off our prisoner and get paid. Only Cam seemed oddly unenthusiastic.

We left the Imperial Highway at Vol Dorma, stopping only to top off supplies before continuing through. Cam suggested we stay at an inn overnight, but both Fadik and I were in favour of pressing on. There was a roadside inn situated where we needed to stop for the night anyway; the road between the two cities is heavily travelled and boasts far more amenities for travellers than the southern stretches of the Imperial Highway.

We spent the evening in the inn’s common room. They had a particularly good trio of minstrels playing; I was acquainted with them courtesy of an earlier run to Tevinter and was pleased to get a chance to hear them. As we started our second round of drinks I said to Fadik, “So, do you want to buy my horse?”

She looked surprised. “You want to sell him?”

“I need to. I do not want to try transporting him on a ship all the way to Minrathous.”

“You won’t need him once you get there?”

I shrugged. “Dorian has horses; if I need one while I’m there I can always use one of his.”

Cam looked from me to Fadik and back. “Who’s Dorian?” 

“His boyfriend? Lover? Consort? Did I cover everything?” Fadik said with a slight smirk.

“I think that was sufficiently descriptive,” I replied. “Anyway, I almost always end up selling my horses on these runs.”

“Is that why you never named him?” Cam asked.

I nodded. “Easier to just call them all ‘horse’. They don’t ever seem to mind. In any case, I thought I’d give you the first chance if you want him.”

“He is a fine animal,” Fadik mused. “How much?” 

We negotiated a bit and settled on a price that we both could live with. I was rather pleased she was taking him; he _was_ a fine animal and it was nice to know who he was going to.

Fadik scanned the room and grinned. “Mind if I leave you two alone for a bit? Someone I know just came in.”

“Go right ahead,” I said as Cam nodded. We watched her weave through the room to a table where a burly dwarf and a human woman were seated. “You know them?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Before my time.” He swallowed a few gulps of beer, drew lines on the table with the ring of liquid his mug had left.

“All right, talk to me,” I said.

He looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“You’ve been acting distant and mopey for two days now. What’s wrong?”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“It’s clearly something,” I said. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of whether it’s stupid.”

“I dunno…” he took another drink. “Guess I’m just not as happy about this run ending as you and Fadik are. It’s about the best one I’ve ever done.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You can say that after what happened at the crossroads?”

"Well, that bit was shite," he admitted with a smile, "but that's what healing potions are for, yeah?"

"I'd say you're a bit more philosophical than I about getting beaten half to death," I said.

" _You_ try growing up in an alienage. Anyways, I just thought we all worked well together — that's why I joined up with Fadik after the first run I did with her — and I'm not in as big a hurry as you lot for it to end. Maker knows what sort of wanker we'll end up teamed with next, you know?"

"I do know," I agreed, "and I'd be happy to work with both of you if I end up doing another Tevinter run."

"You only do Tevinter? Never any other directions?"

"Yes, that's about it," I admitted. "I don't have any reason to go anywhere else; at least, not as an outrider."

“Never wanted to do Ferelden?”

“You have to cross the Waking Sea. And I just don’t much care about going there even though I have friends from there.”

“Orlais?”

“Ugh. I’ve had enough of Orlais to last me a lifetime.”

He smirked. “Yeah, it’s the accent that drives me ‘round the bend; poncey bastards, most Orlesians are. What about the rest of the Free Marches?”

“Doesn’t pay well enough. Most of the jobs around there are just scutwork escorting nobles who think they’re more important than they actually are. I’ve got a place in Kirkwall and family in Ostwick and other than that I can take or leave most of the Free Marches."

“Okay, then, Nevarra.”

I thought about it. “Maybe someday. I’d have to have a damn good reason to bother at the moment.”

He squinted at me. "A house in Hasmal, a place in Kirkwall, buying and selling horses whenever they get inconvenient, bespoke clothes that may all be black riding leathers, but they're _really_ high quality… What _do_ you do normally anyways? I mean, outriding seems to just be some sort of sideline for you and you obviously have money. Are you some kind of rich fucker who has a really whacked idea of fun?"

I laughed. "I can see how it might look that way but… it's complicated." _Lovely — the same lame thing I kept telling my parents._ "I know it sounds pretentious as all fuck, but there are things I can't talk about."

"What, you're, like, still secretly the Inquisitor?"

"Maker, no!" I punctuated the thought by downing my drink and signalling for another. "Parts of it were wonderful when I was doing it, but honestly I'd rather sleep naked on broken glass than do it again. I just sometimes do things for people who don't necessarily want everyone and his dog to know things are being done."

"Ah. That clears everything up." He eyed me shrewdly. "So _clearly_ all your trips to Tevinter have nothing to do with this Dorian bloke you're mad about living up here."

I glared at him. "That's complicated too. Want me to pry into _your_ personal life now?"

"Go right ahead," he grinned, "I have no personal life. I'm just trying to figure you out."

"Well, if you do, let me know because I'm still working on that," I said. Fortunately the musicians started playing again and Fadik brought her friends over, saving me from having to answer any more uncomfortable questions. The rest of the night passed swiftly in an increasingly boozy haze until I went upstairs to my room, made sure Dorian was still alive and well and fell into a dreamless sleep that lasted until Cam shook me awake the next morning.

We got on the road early (I spent most of the morning feeling congested again) and made good time despite the road being much more crowded than anything we’d encountered to that point. Our group drew more than a few stares from passers-by, but everyone stayed respectful and the journey went smoothly. We stopped for the night at an inn on the outskirts of Marnus Pell itself, as it was too late to do any of our tasks. The innkeeper had been hesitant about letting us park Hissrad’s cage cart anywhere on his grounds, but we finally convinced him to rent us an outbuilding he wasn’t using anyway for about double the price it was worth. Even then he only relented once I’d promised to ward the entire perimeter.

We got his cart into the building and while the others took the horses over to the stables, I prepped the interior so he’d be able to move about a bit. “This is the last night,” I said to him once I’d released the binding spell and started setting the wards, “tomorrow we hand you off to whoever paid to have you transported all this way. I won’t say it’s been fun, but it’s been interesting.”

He exited the cage and stretched, giving me one of his inscrutable looks. “Interesting,” he echoed. “Tell me: why did you continue to attempt conversation? I did not encourage it.”

As usual, I found the things he chose to ask me somewhat baffling. I shrugged. “It’s a human thing, Hissrad. We have also been known to converse with animals, inanimate objects and ourselves.”

He frowned. “That is inefficient. It makes no sense.” 

“It works for us,” I said pleasantly. “So I suppose if we should meet again you’ll try to kill me.”

“The Qun is quite clear on that subject,” he said, looking as close to amused as he ever gets. “You are _bas saarebas._ Under the Qun you would still be saarebas. Therefore I would do you the kindness of killing you.”

I understood what he meant: unlike a non-mage, if I were allowed to live at all my fate under the Qun would be to be leashed and collared for the rest of my life, my mouth sewn shut and my tongue likely cut out. “In a ghastly way, that’s damn decent of you, Hissrad,” I said.

He gave a single nod of acknowledgement. “I doubt we’ll talk again after tonight,” I continued.

“We will not,” he agreed.

“So, excuse me if I do a very human thing and wish you luck. As ardent followers of the Qun go, you’re not so bad.”

“ _Panahedan_ , Kai. It has been interesting,” he said solemnly. “Should we meet again, I _shall_ try to kill you.”

“I’d rather see what it’s like to sit down and have a few drinks, but if it would make you happy I’ll try to kill you back,” I said with a smile.

To my utter shock, he essayed a slight smile back and his face didn’t break. “I shall consider your suggestion.”

I felt like saying anything more would spoil the moment, so I just said, “I’ll be back with your food,” as usual and walked away, closing the door and setting the final ward behind me. Cam and Fadik were waiting impatiently at the back door to the inn.

“What took you so long?” Cam demanded.

“Had to make sure all the wards were set properly or the innkeeper’ll have a cat,” I shrugged. “I’m starving; let’s go eat.”

**=#=**

The next day we were up early again. Fadik had sent a messenger to their employers letting them know that we had arrived with Hissrad, so delivering him was our first task. Once that was done and the money squared away, it would be time for us to part ways. Much as I was looking forward to getting to Minrathous, I did feel a touch of melancholy; I'd come to like Fadik and Cam a great deal.

Midmorning we delivered Hissrad to a small group of hard-looking men and women. They acted with the professionalism of seasoned soldiers, but I don't think Hissrad was in for a particularly pleasant future. While they were sorting out the pay with Fadik (Cam they ignored) I met Hissrad's eyes and gave him a minimal nod which he returned in kind. Shortly after, they hooked the cage cart up to one of the draft horses we'd brought with us and took him away. I never did find out what they wanted him for or what he and his mates had been doing when he got caught in the first place. I doubt I'll ever have to worry about whether he decided to opt for drinks or killing me, but stranger things have happened.

We stopped at a nearby pub Fadik recommended for lunch and to finalize the money. My share was quite generous; one of the perks of doing a Tevinter run. Of course, I was going to have to spend a chunk of it on passage aboard a ship, but I figured the Chantry had deep pockets, and would be itemizing my costs now that I was more or less officially on Cassandra's mission. "So what will you do now?" I asked Fadik and Cam.

They looked at each other and Fadik shrugged. "Try to find work here that'll take us back down south. I don't want to be stuck spending and not earning all the way back. What about you — you heading down to the docks from here?" 

I nodded. I'd spent a while at the inn the night before asking about ships heading to Minrathous and had a good idea what to look for. "The sooner I can leave, the better. As it is I expect it'll take a bit to find the sort of ship I'm looking for, assuming any are in port."

"Are you still sure about selling your horse? That's a fair amount of gear to carry around," Fadik said.

"I'm sure. Finding _a_ room — or is it a berth on a ship? — is going to be a lot easier than finding room for a horse as well. I'll just hire someone to help carry the gear down to the boat when I leave."

"So hire us," Cam said brightly.

"Excuse me?"

"Just until you're ready to go. It's already on your horse, so when it becomes Fadik’s horse just hire us to haul it."

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Or we could just agree to head down to the docks together and I’ll finalize the deal on the horse once I don’t need him anymore.”

“Well, yeah, we could do it that way, but I like the sound of my idea better,” Cam grinned.

“So do I,” Fadik said with a smile, “But your idea’s not bad, Kai. We might be able to find a south-heading job while you're looking for a boat."

So after we ate, the three of us went down to the docks. I'd rescued my staff from its usual place with my luggage and put it back in the harness on my coat; it would likely work to my advantage to be recognized as a mage now. Marnus Pell was a big enough port that it had a dock master, so I went to that office first. The dock master turned out to be a no-nonsense, barrel-shaped woman I at first mistook for a dwarf. I'd been correct in my hunch about the staff: once she realized I was a mage - with coin - on the way to Minrathous her attitude shifted from irritation to a gruff friendliness. She soon had it narrowed down to two ships that fit my requirements; it would be up to me to see whether either of them would take me.

While I'd been talking to the dock master, Fadik and Cam had done some investigating of their own and found a few likely prospects coming into port who might need to hire escorts, so we split up, wishing each other luck as we searched for our respective ships. 

The ones I'd been pointed to weren't the big merchant ships; they were smaller, built for speed rather than capacity, which meant they were moored at the docks, not out in the bay. Happily, the two boats were docked not far from each other, which made it easier to comparison shop. Not that I really knew what to look for; to be honest, I couldn't tell a schooner from a sloop or whatever other colourful nautical names boats have. I just tried to observe general upkeep, that sort of thing. One not only looked in better repair, but I got a good feeling off it, illogical as that may sound. I hoped they would take a passenger. 

I went to my boat of choice and searched for signs of life; I wasn't sure what the etiquette would be. Was it all right to walk onto someone's ship and do a shout-out for some service or not? Fortunately someone noticed me, and not long after I was able to talk to the captain, a Rivaini with a shaved head and a beard of truly epic proportions. When I told him what I was looking for, he assured me he could provide everything I needed. Space was at a premium on a craft that size, but they were travelling light on the run back up to Minrathous and for the right price I could have the mate's cabin for the duration of the trip (I asked whether the mate would be put out by this arrangement and the captain assured me this wouldn't be the first time they'd taken on a passenger). 

The best part was I could get there in less than half the time it would take on horseback, "even faster if the winds cooperate," he said. He looked at me appraisingly. "Don't suppose you could help out with that?"

"Sorry, I can't do weather magic," I said. He looked a bit disappointed, but shrugged and got down to the important business of negotiating a price. What we settled on was high but not unreasonable. They'd be leaving first thing in the morning, which meant I was stuck in Marnas Pell one more night.

I reunited with Cam and Fadik to find they'd had some luck as well. They'd met a courier who had been tasked with delivering documents to several southern cities and needed an escort. The courier's last stop was Solas, which would get them most of the way home with pay; hopefully they could pick up one more job there that would get them back to the Free Marches. They were also leaving first thing in the morning, so we spent one last night together at an inn near the docks. I finalized the sale of my horse to Fadik and gave them both my addresses in Hasmal and Kirkwall in case they should want to look me up (warning them that I'm virtually never in Kirkwall; there's something about that city that makes me vaguely uncomfortable). After a few moments' thought I added Dorian's address in Minrathous just in case.

We kept the drinking to a minimum, played some cards and talked a fair bit. It wasn’t much different from all the other nights we’d spent except for a slight change in feeling because we all knew this was the end. 

Then it was morning and time to go. We said our goodbyes, promising to keep in touch and knowing it most likely wouldn't happen. They mounted their horses and went to meet their client. I shouldered my gear and walked the short distance to my boat, where the mate showed me the cabin and assured me there were no hard feelings. In no time they were pulling up anchor and doing the myriad of things it takes to get a ship underway; I stayed in the cabin rather than get underfoot out on deck. There was a small window — or is it called a porthole when you're on a boat? — in the cabin, so I was able to see when we set sail.

I was finally on my way to Minrathous.


	34. Minrathous

_ Part Three: Minrathous _

_Dear Mother and Father,_  
_Greetings from the high seas!_

No.

 _Dear Mother and Father,_  
_As I write this I am on a ship bound for Minrathous. Yes, where my Magister lives, you know that._

NO.

 _Dear Mother and Father,_  
_How have you been? I'm sorry I haven't written, but I've been travelling a lot lately. In fact, I am travelling right now, heading north on the Nocen Sea._

Fucking boring.

 _Dear Mother and Father,_  
_Having just finished several days of travel through Tevinter with an elf and two Qunari (no that is not the beginning of a joke), I am now sailing the rest of the way to Minrathous so I can find a murderer and of course bang my Magister lover. Believe it or not, it is safer in Tevinter right now as someone in Hasmal is trying to permanently damage me for reasons only they know, which is why I haven’t written before this._

Yeah, right. Maybe try a different opening.

 _Dear Mother and Father,_  
_So nice to hear your friend Hettie had lunch with the Countess; I am sure that was a feather in her cap! I am on a ship on the Nocen Sea at the moment with nary a countess in sight._

This is impossible.

 _Dear Mother and Father,_  
_Even after all these years, I still stink at writing chatty letters home. I am going to stop trying now because my right hand and wrist are getting sore; I am afraid my right hand will never be comfortable writing. Hope this finds you well. Your nautical son, Kai._

Fuck it. 

I’d thought I would use the forced inactivity on board to finally write something to my parents, but as usual, I found myself unable to think of anything that wasn’t inane, stupid or inappropriate. Giving up, I dug through my bags; Marnas Pell was a big enough city that it sported not one, but two book stores. I had to keep it within reason due to weight, but I had picked a few books for exactly this situation. They were all fluff by one V.E. Tenthas, whose name was suspiciously similar enough to Varric’s that their books appeared just before his on the shelves. The titles were all a blatant rip-off of Varric’s _Hard in Hightown_ series as well, so I had copies of _Down Low in Denerim_ , _Murdered in Markham, Lost in Lowtown, Revoked in Redcliffe_ and my personal favourite for sketchy titles, _Naked in Nevarra City_. I was sure they were going to be terrible and was rather looking forward to it.

A few hours later I was deep in the adventures of elite watchman Conal Macreary as he was hot on the trail of a lyrium smuggling ring operating behind the walls of a Denerim estate when my sending crystal pinged. I set the book down and activated the crystal, saying, “Ahoy!”

“Amatus?” came Dorian’s voice.

“I’m here. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, it’s all beer and skittles here, though I do have some things to tell you. Where are you?”

“ _I_ am in a room approximately half the size of one of your closets, sitting on a bunk reading an impossibly schlocky adventure novel whilst coursing across the waters towards Minrathous,” I told him. “And I’ll have you know I am in the second-best cabin on the ship. It even has a little window.”

“You mean a porthole,” Dorian corrected.

“Fine, be all nautical at me. I always thought portholes were round; this one is square. The important thing is this is a _fast_ ship. The mate said if the weather holds we should be there by tomorrow night.”

"Finally! It's good talking with you, but I much prefer it when we're in the same room. Let me know when you get in, will you?"

"Of course. Any chance you can send someone for me? I have _things_ and I sold my horse. That's why I'm on the _fast_ ship."

"Not a problem. Tell me sufficiently ahead of time and I can have someone waiting for you. You know, maybe I should wait until you get here to tell you everything."

"Well, you went and said it, so at least give me a hint," I objected.

"It has to do with your tattooed elf," Dorian said.

"He's hardly _my_ elf. Did you find out something interesting?"

"For starters, he beat you back to Minrathous. He popped up a few days ago."

I tried to get more comfortable on the narrow bunk and succeeded in banging my elbow into the wall behind me. "Ow. That might not be anything. He wasn't slowed down by a cage cart and five bloody horses. Anything else? Is his name really Vel Docilus?"

"It seems to be. It turns out quite a few people know who he is."

"You didn't approach him, did you?" I asked with some alarm.

"Maker, no. He'd know we've been communicating and I'd rather have him think I'm blissfully ignorant of his existence until we find out what he's up to. My people have been looking into who he associates with, but I'll tell you about that and everything else once you get here. So how are you liking life on the high seas?"

"Stressing first that I _want_ it to be this way, it's pretty bloody boring. I tried to write my parents earlier."

"Oh dear. How did that go?"

"About as well as every other time. You need to help me again."

"Honestly, Kai, I shall never understand how someone who writes as well as you can't write a simple letter to people who'd probably be thrilled even with the dreadful attempts you make."

"I don't understand it either. That's why you need to help me," I complained. "In any case, I stopped trying and switched to a book that is baldly ripping off Varric at every turn, yet is terribly entertaining…"

Since Dorian wanted to wait to talk about anything important, we kept things light and inconsequential the rest of the conversation, which at least kept me amused for quite a while. Once we said our goodbyes I read a bit more then tried to get some sleep despite the feeling that if I turned over too quickly I was apt to fall out of the bunk. At least I didn't get seasick.

I spent the next day alternating between wandering the deck and reading in my cabin. The sea remained smooth, the winds remained in our favour, there were no pirate attacks and I didn't get pushed over the side by a mysterious assailant. As a result, it wasn't long after dusk that we were pulling into Minrathous's main harbour. I'd contacted Dorian once I knew how long it was actually going to take, so there was to be a trap waiting for me (the type drawn by a horse, not the sort my harasser kept leaving for me in Hasmal). Once we'd docked, I hiked up to the road and found my ride. I barely even looked at the bustling streets as we passed through them; at this point I was heartily sick of travelling and just wanted to unload my gear and enjoy not having to go anywhere for a while.

We pulled into Dorian's estate. The driver dropped me at the front and continued to the back where servants would take my things in, and someone else would get the joy of tending to the bloody horse. I clacked the heavy door knocker a few times, the door opened and Dorian pulled me into an embrace, saying, "Finally - it took you long enough." 

"I missed you too," I replied and kissed him hello. Eventually we let go of each other and headed into the house. My first priority was to disappear into the washroom for a few minutes to clean up; after two days at sea I felt like I had a thin crust of sticky salt covering me. As I toweled off after rinsing the worst of the travel grime off myself, an odd thought occurred to me: I felt like I'd just gotten home.


	35. Eager Elves and Other Entertainments

"You know, one of these days we really need to go to my place in Qarinus," Dorian said as I joined him in the study.

"What brought this on?"

"Minrathous gets… wearing after a while. This city is like a glorious old woman with a hidden social disease that's been eating away at her."

I laughed. "And you say _I_ only wax poetic about ghastly things? I'd love to see the place, but frankly I'm just as glad you're in Minrathous for the time being. Getting here is enough of a pain in the arse, though hauling that cage cart to Marnus Pell did add some extra time on. Of course, if you decided to relocate to Vyrantium…"

Dorian made a face. "I've been there. I did not enjoy it. They put on airs — _Vyrantium: where the river meets the sea_ , that sort of pap — but they're really just an overgrown fishing village."

"I was thinking purely of my convenience," I said, taking a drink off the tray a servant offered me. "Is there anywhere in Tevinter you _haven't_ been?"

"Possibly, but I did get around quite a bit in my debauched youth. You'll like Qarinus, I think. The Circle there puts on quite a Wintersend festival every year." He took a drink of his own and nodded thanks/dismissal to the servant.

I pushed up my left sleeve and started unstrapping the prosthesis. "I don't know that I'll ever get used to the idea of a Circle being a positive thing. I feel an instinctive urge to bolt any time someone suggests going near one."

"I keep telling you to think of them as schools up here."

"Doesn't matter. Soon as I hear 'Circle' the reaction sets in. The irony is if I'd been allowed to _leave_ I probably wouldn't have minded it. Well, if they'd removed the Templars." I tossed the prosthesis onto the table in front of me. "That's better. Andraste's tits, this thing has gotten uncomfortable. I think I fucked it up good and proper."

"How did you manage that?"

"Remember, I told you — I caved that Qunari raider's head in with it. I can't take the rune out to get a proper look at it, but it hasn't fit well ever since and it feels rather… lumpy."

Dorian picked it up and examined it. "I see what you mean. Not surprising, really; Qunari are awfully hard-headed as a rule." He set the arm back on the table and looked at me curiously. "So what did you have in mind for your first night back? Should we get right to all this business with tattooed elves and Chantry assassins?"

I smiled slightly. "Actually I was thinking more along the lines of cleaning up properly and getting reacquainted."

Dorian's answering smile was slow and sultry. "I was hoping you'd say that."

**=#=**

I awoke late enough that it could only barely be called morning and spent a few moments simply enjoying the fact that I was in a proper bed in a clean room and the only sounds were the muffled sounds of the city, not bloody horses. There were little dust motes visible in the light filtering in through a gap in the curtains and on a table near the door I could see the clothes I'd worn on the road all neatly folded in a freshly laundered stack. Even my boots had been buffed and polished. Though I didn't particularly want to, I hauled myself out of bed and padded over to the stack of laundry. The clothes I'd had on the night before were no longer strewn across the floor, but they weren't in the stack either. I supposed they'd been retrieved for washing some time that morning. Not that it much mattered; since nearly everything I wear is black, I never have to worry about colour-coordination problems.

Once I'd gotten dressed, I eyed the prosthesis still lying on the chair where I'd tossed it the night before and decided I didn't need it. Instead I just pinned my shirtsleeve up with a weak attraction spell and headed down to the kitchen to beg some coffee off whoever happened to be there. Dorian had clearly gotten up before me, so I kept an eye out for him as I made my way to the balcony where we often sat on nice days.

Someone was there, but it wasn't Dorian. I recognized the blonde hair and was already smiling as Maevaris turned in her chair to see who was behind her. "Hi, Kai," she said cheerfully.

"Hey, Mae," I finished our little ritual and set my coffee down. She stood and swept me into a hello hug which I returned. "It's good to see you." We took our seats on either side of the small table the balcony sported.

"You got back quickly this time," she observed. "Did our favourite commitment-shy magister finally ask you to come back to stay?"

I shook my head and sipped some coffee. "No, not yet. I'm actually back because I have _things_ to do here."

"Ooooh, _things_. Sounds fun. Can you talk about these things?" 

"I don't see why not." As I had Dorian, I told her about the murders and left out anything about the stolen information. They were sufficiently lurid that I doubted anyone would question Cass's desire to have someone look into it. "Dorian's helping me with it," I concluded.

"Is that what had him buried in the genealogies half the week?"

"Yes. He was successful too."

"He always was a good researcher," she said. "So who are you looking for?"

"Kaeso Asina. Ever heard of him?"

She thought for a few moments and shook her head. "No, and I know the Asinas. I take it there's a good reason?"

I told her what Dorian had discovered. "Well, well, so he's their dirty little secret, is he? That's got to be a bit of a blow to his ego," she said thoughtfully.

"I know how it feels," I said, taking a healthy swallow now that the coffee had cooled sufficiently. "My family was nearly as appalled when it turned out I _was_ magically talented. Of course, they didn’t have to worry about hiding me away from decent people; the Templars did that for them."

“And yet you haven’t murdered anyone,” she said lightly.

“Well… that’s a matter of opinion,” I replied. “I’ve certainly killed a lot of people.”

“Yes, but were they minding their own business having a lovely day when you killed them?”

“No, I’d say to a person they were trying to kill me at the time,” I allowed.

“Then you haven’t murdered anyone.”

“You’re talking about murder without _me_?” Dorian’s voice came from behind us. A moment later he kissed the top of my head and we all shuffled chairs around so he could pull one up to the table. “You looked utterly dead to the world when I got up so I thought I’d let you sleep,” he told me.

“I appreciate it,” I said, “That’s the most comfortable sleep I’ve had since I left Hasmal. I think I’m definitely getting too old for this roughing it shite.”

“And yet it’s kept you in phenomenally good shape, especially for a mage. I am very up-to-date with this information,” he said with an exaggerated leer that made Mae laugh as I smiled at the table, “So what _about_ murder?”

“I was telling Mae about the elusive Kaeso Asina.”

“ _Presumed_ elusive, anyway, since we haven’t actually looked for him,” Dorian pointed out. “Do you have enough coffee? Should I get someone to bring more?”

“More is always good,” I replied. “Why, do you have an address for him?”

Dorian rang for a servant, saying, “No, as I said, the Asinas don’t admit he exists. The fact that he’s using the family name suggests he’s thumbing his nose at them; it may mean he’s not trying very hard to keep himself hidden these days.”

I smirked, “Can’t say as I blame him.”

As Dorian told a servant what we wanted, Mae said, “You know, Kai, I don’t think you’re supposed to be identifying with the murderer.”

“I’m not condoning what he _did_ , I’m just-“

“Identifying with his situation,” Dorian finished for me. “I suppose we could go to the hall of records to start looking for him.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Mae deadpanned.

“Shite, I almost forgot — I have a sketch of him.” I jumped up and trotted back to the bedroom, digging through my luggage until I found the sheaf of papers Cass had given me concerning the murders. I retrieved the sketch and returned to Dorian and Mae. “Have either of you seen him?” I asked, handing it to Dorian.

“Quite striking, isn’t he?” Dorian said. “If he looks anything like this sketch, I think I can safely say I’ve never seen him.” He handed it to Mae.

She studied it closely. “I’m… not sure. It’s possible. Let me think about it; if I have I can’t for the life of me remember where.”

“Well, I’m thinking there is one other route we can take,” I said, “He didn’t go down to Orlais and spend a year pretending to be a librarian just to murder some chinless idiot, so someone must have hired him to do something down there.”

“Any idea what?” Dorian asked.

“Don’t know. Maybe the chinless idiot interfered before he could do it and he had to run after the murders. My thought is if someone hired him then there have to be channels through which others can hire him.”

“I could make a few delicate inquiries,” Mae offered. “I don’t think they’d believe Dorian was looking for someone like Asina.”

“That would be lovely,” I said, “While you’re doing that I was thinking I could be doing something similar in the… rougher parts of town.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Dorian frowned at me.

“It means I can go down and ask around the mercenary circles, outriders, swords for hire and the like. I’ve got a good reputation with them, so they’d likely tell me if, say, I’d been offered a job that involved wetwork and wanted to pass it on to someone who was more comfortable with that sort of thing.”

“Wetwork?” Mae echoed.

“Yeah, as in probable murder involved. As we ascertained earlier, while I am a very efficient killer, I’m no murderer.” I blinked angelically at her.

“I don’t know, amatus, is that wise?” Dorian said dubiously.

“Excuse me, in addition to the adventures we shared in the good old Inquisition days, you _have_ had me traipsing back and forth across Tevinter for the last year and a bit and _now_ you’re worried that I may come across some dangerous people?” I shot back.

“He has a point, Dor,” Mae said with a grin.

“You always take his side,” Dorian complained. “But all right, I admit you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. Just keep in mind that Minrathous is like Val Royeaux with more pleasant accents and blood magic.”

“And no masks, thank the maker,” I added, “but duly noted. I never had much difficulty playing their blasted Game; it was the politics that drove me round the bend.”

“I always felt they were one and the same,” Mae said.

“They are, but when you’re up at the head-of-state level you get a bloody great extra helping of meetings, summits and diplomatically necessary affairs that are mainly about public posturing and pointless speechifying. It’s stunningly dull and yet you’re supposed to pay attention because the Game’s still going on beneath the surface. I hated every moment of it,” I clarified.

“He really did,” Dorian said with a long-suffering look, “Believe me. I was there.”

"Not one to suffer in silence, are you?" Mae said.

"Please, that's even worse," Dorian exaggerated.

"How can it be worse if I'm silent?" I demanded.

"Amatus, you've never had to put up with you when you get into a sulk."

A servant arrived with more coffee, assorted other drinks and a snack tray that she set up on a portable sideboard, saving me from the impulse to defend myself. I thanked her as I got coffee and a pastry or two. Dorian and Mae got their own refreshments, the conversation pausing while we sorted ourselves out. Once we had, Dorian continued, “If we’re done with Asina for the time being, perhaps we should move on to your tattooed elf.”

“And I repeat, love, he is not _my_ elf. If anything, he’s interested in you,” I said through a mouthful of something cinnamony. “You said you found out some things about him?”

“Yes, and quite an interesting chap he is. For instance, he’s married to a human woman.”

“Well _that’s_ different,” Mae said. 

“Not only that: they have two children. They reside in a very respectable home in a very respectable area of the merchant’s quarter.”

“So he really is a businessman?” I asked. “He doesn’t look or act much like one.”

“Depends on the line of business you’re in,” Mae said drily. “Remember, Varric is a businessman too.”

“And he looks more like one than Vel Docilus,” I said.

“His ‘business’, such as it is, is simply listed as imports and exports. Curiously, I couldn’t find any record as to what these imports and exports might be beyond the helpfully vague description 'rare goods',” Dorian said, clearly enjoying himself. “Whatever they are, they seem to make him a great deal of money.”

“Black market?” Mae suggested.

“Grey, perhaps,” Dorian said. “He seems to travel quite a bit, which means his claim of running across Kai accidentally is probably legitimate.”

“Agreed. It’s unlikely he’d have known I was going to be at the crossroads when I was. He was quick to capitalize on it, though,” I said.

“Sign of a shrewd businessman,” Mae said, “Or whatever he is. What did he want with you, Kai? Dor never did get around to telling me.”

“He wants me to get him in to see Dorian. He claims he’s interested in the Lucerni but…” I shook my head, “I don’t know. There’s something about the man that creeps me out.”

“So he knew enough to try to get to Dorian through you? Why do we not know anything about him?” Mae frowned. 

“ _That_ is a very good question, darling,” Dorian said, “and one we shall look into. He doesn’t seem to associate with any particular Circle, though both he and his wife are Laetan.”

"Business decision or due to the mixed marriage, do you think?" Mae said.

“He clearly keeps an eye on the Magisterium,” I said. “Dorian has stopped keeping me a secret-“ I shot him a glare that was mostly facetious, “-but we haven’t gone out of our way to advertise either. To hear Docilus talk, we’re a hair’s breadth away from being written up in the society pages, we’re such common knowledge.”

“Not as shrewd as he’d like you to think, then. If he was, he’d know you two aren’t really known to be a capital-C Couple outside of a few select circles," Mae said.

"Well, he must know someone who told him we are a capital-C couple," Dorian said. "I wonder who…"

"Does it matter? The point is he got eager and showed a bit more of his hand than he should have,” Mae said.

“An apt turn of phrase given I met him in a game of Wicked Grace,” I smiled.

“At least we’re going in with proof that he’s fallible,” Dorian said. “I assume you’re planning on indulging him in this meeting.”

“Of course. I want to know what he’s up to even more than you, I imagine, since it’s you he’s targeting.”

“You should let him think I know nothing about this when you meet with him,” Dorian said.

I nodded. “Agreed. At least until we have some idea what he’s up to.”

“Would he believe you hadn’t told Dorian?” Mae asked.

I shrugged. “Why not? He knows we’re a couple, but he doesn’t know how much we tell each other. Lots of couples don’t tell each other fuck-all.”

“Of course, he _could_ simply wish to put his support into the Lucerni because we’re a forward-thinking force for positive change with a truly revolutionary sense of fashion and cultural _élan_ ,” Dorian said brightly.

As I snorted, Mae said, “If that’s all he wants, we’ll take his money and endorsement gladly. In the meantime, we assume the worst and hope we’re pleasantly surprised.”

“Speaking of the Lucerni, I know what I intend to do more or less, but what about the two of you?” I asked. “Are you still being all political or do you have some time to indulge in more interesting activities?”

They looked at each other. “I don’t think there’s anything particularly pressing that would demand our presence in the Magisterium at the moment,” Dorian said. “We’ve been more worried about whoever made that attempt on Marius lately when I haven’t been hunting down missing persons for you.”

“What’s going on with that? Have you found out anything?”

“Everyone’s playing dumb as usual,” Mae said irritably. “They all profess to have the highest regard for the Lucerni to our faces, of course, but I know that behind the scenes the fact that we’re getting some people to pay attention to us is ruffling more than a few feathers.”

“Typical,” I said, directing my next comment at Dorian, “And you honestly thought I’d willingly get involved in all that? My love, you are more than welcome to immerse yourself in political machinations to your heart’s content. I would rather haunt seedy taverns and back alleys looking for well-bred murderers.”

“To be fair, when I said that you were still _enjoying_ being Inquisitor,” he said a bit defensively. 

I almost retorted that he’d essentially repeated that belief when he left for Tevinter and requested I stay down south even though he knew damn well I wanted nothing more to do with politics, but thought better of it. He knew how I felt, so I’d just be starting an argument to prove a point. Instead I just made a non-committal noise and busied myself picking a sandwich off the snack tray.

“I think _I’d_ prefer looking for well-bred murderers as well,” Mae said cheerfully. “But to answer your question, we are fairly free to help you investigate.”

“For all we know we’ll find out something about your would-be assassination while we’re at it,” I said as I sat back down. “I should send a message to Docilus letting him know I’m in town.”

“Was there anything else you just have to start today?” Dorian asked.

“I suppose not,” I said, “Did you have something in mind?”

“I thought we might get something to eat and a few drinks and then I’d take you to that play I told you about — _The Magister Who Came to Dinner_.”

“Oh, you have to go, Kai. It’s delightful,” Mae said.

“I’d love to,” I agreed, “I don’t think the world will end because I take one night off.”

“If Solas is freakishly ahead of schedule and launches Elfworld tonight I shall state for the record that you had nothing to do with it,” Dorian said.

So I sent my message to Vel Docilus and spent the rest of the day with Dorian (and Mae for a good part of it). We went to the theatre that night and the play _was_ delightful, as was everything afterwards. It was a nice break from our responsibilities and we made the most of it.


	36. And He Has Ideas...

The next day I arose to find that Vel Docilus had already responded to my brief message. Dorian handed me his answering note when I joined him in the study (it was chilly and raining out, so no balcony that morning). I read it quickly, telling Dorian, "Well, he's certainly eager to meet. Think I should keep him waiting or see him this afternoon?"

"I've found out all I can about him without doing some serious digging. Why not indulge him; see what you think when he's in his comfort zone," Dorian replied.

I nodded. "I'd certainly like to know why he's got such a hard-on for you."

Dorian smirked and made a show of smoothing his mustache. "Do I detect a note of jealousy? After all, I _am_ rather irresistible. You shouldn't fault the poor man for something he can't help."

"If it were _that_ kind of interest I'd take it in stride," I said. "If you were going to sleep around on me — and you needn't tell me if you have or not — you've had plenty of opportunity. But he wants to use you in ways that are something other than carnal and I wish I knew why I have such a bad feeling about him. He didn't _do_ anything but know a little more than most people and ask for a rather typical favour. In fact, he was nothing but pleasant the entire time. It's very vexing."

"I trust your feelings," Dorian assured me. "You're good at reading people and you're _very_ good at getting people to do what you want; just meet with him and see what he has to say. He's either exactly what he says or he's a possible threat. Either way we need to know." He looked at me skeptically, "You'd really take it in stride if he were after me that way?"

I half-smiled. "Well, you _are_ attractive, so it's bound to happen on occasion. I either have to trust you or not. I choose to trust you. It's easier. It's not like you ever promised not to anyway."

"I- well, then neither did you." He actually looked a bit nonplussed.

"Yes, but we both know I'm rather predictable when it comes to that sort of thing. I haven’t actually wanted to, but if I _did_ fuck around on you, you know I'd end up feeling guilty even if you were standing right there encouraging me to. So when the opportunity has arisen — so to speak — I haven't," I finished with a fatalistic shrug.

" _When_ the opportunity has arisen?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You're surprised? I know I don't have your looks, but I'm not exactly a dog's dinner either."

He gave me a narrow look. "I _clearly_ find you terribly attractive, unless you think I’ve been somehow faking all this time. I just… hadn't really thought about it. Now that I am thinking about it, I'm finding it somewhat unsettling. We _didn't_ ever promise not to, didn't we."

"I'm sure you just murdered some grammatical rule with that sentence, but no. Everything happened so fast when you left, it never came up. Your father had just died and I was still more than a little fucked up and since then we've both been busy and I've been on the road half the time, so… no promises were made." I took a piece of paper out of the writing desk I was seated at and dashed off a note to Docilus, folded it and sealed it magically.

"So all this time I could have been out there indulging my every carnal whim without any consequence from breaking my word… Want me to take that for you? I need to use the facilities, so I'll get someone to deliver it on the way."

I nodded my thanks and handed him the note. He took it with his right hand, trailed the left across my back from shoulder to shoulder and bent down, breath warm in my ear as he said softly, "I never have either," and ambled out the door.

**=#=**

I arrived at Vel Docilus' house late that afternoon. It was in the Merchant's Quarter, a part of Minrathous I wasn't very familiar with. The area looked to be in good repair — something that cannot be said for a great deal of the city these days — with good-sized houses and streets kept clean by Tevinter's vast slave class. The houses there were built of stone (also like a great deal of the city), packed close together with elegant stone staircases leading up to each doorway. They were all three to four stories tall. I climbed the staircase to Docilus' house and knocked. The door was answered by a liveried slave who led me through the house to a large, airy room overlooking a garden that was far too vast to be real. Illusion magic, of course, but very well executed.

Docilus was sitting in a plush-looking chair reading some sort of document that he set down as I entered, rising to greet me. "Lord Trevelyan, so kind of you to accept my invitation," he said with what looked like genuine pleasure.

"I think we can dispense with the titles, can't we?" I said, taking the seat across from his.

"As you wish," he said. He told the slave to have refreshments brought as he took his seat again. "Some people are quite invested in the proper use of titles; I find it politic to adhere to them until told otherwise."

"Prudent of you, though I'm thinking it's a bit pretentious to insist upon given the circumstances of our meeting. Lovely view," I added with a nod to the gardens.

"Thank you. I was considering switching, perhaps to mountains, but my wife is fond of the gardens so we may keep them a trifle longer."

"The Hissing Wastes at night has an eerie beauty to it," I suggested.

"Really? I don't believe I've ever been there." 

“There’s not much reason to go there, but it’s an interesting place to see once. Did you do it yourself? It’s beautiful work.”

He smiled. “I did indeed and I thank you for the compliment. May I ask if you did your hand? I, um, saw you without it in the crossroads.”

“No, it’s runed,” I told him, “By a dwarf of phenomenal talent.”

Both his eyebrows shot up. “My. I keep forgetting that some of you southerners are every bit as skilled as we are here.”

Another slave arrived with refreshments and Docilus turned his attention to that for a few minutes. I took the opportunity to study him, as this was the first time I'd seen him in daylight. He was just a bit shorter than me, with the slender build typical of elves. Dark brown hair worn a bit longer than was fashionable was just starting to recede in the front. His pale green eyes were heavy-lidded and had a slight up-tilt to them. His skin was on the fair side and unblemished. Altogether he was unremarkable, not particularly handsome or unattractive; the kind of man that would blend effortlessly into a crowd, until you noticed the tattoos. They were mostly hidden at the moment, as he had traded the casual riding gear of the crossroads for a tailored shirt embroidered at the neck and cuffs, but I could see hints of them and knew at the very least they covered both his arms.

He offered me something alcoholic to drink, but I declined in favour of lemonade. I didn’t want to be even slightly impaired around the man. He had no such fears about me, having his slave make him a drink I wasn’t familiar with. It contained a few kinds of alcohol and fizzed when it was mixed. He dismissed the slave and sat back in his chair, the picture of relaxation as his eyes studied me with lively interest.

“I suppose I should elaborate on what it is I wish from you,” he said.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” I said. “I’m also curious. You have me at a disadvantage, as you seem to know about me, but I know virtually nothing about you aside from your being a passably skilled Wicked Grace player who rescues young elves who’ve been set upon by thugs.”

He chuckled. “How is the lad? He was in sorry shape when I found him.”

“He’s fine. Incidentally, where _did_ you find him? He had no idea what sort of nightmare pit they’d thrown him into.”

“Ah, I suppose he wouldn’t. It was the butcher’s midden.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Well that certainly explains the smell and matches his description. Nasty.”

“Quite,” he agreed.

“I appreciate your help. We had no idea at the time that he’d been attacked.”

He inclined his head graciously and took a sip of his drink. “So, Kai — may I call you Kai?” I nodded and he continued, “Allow me to explain why I’ve dragged you all the way to my house and plied you with drink and such forward requests.”

“Please do,” I said with a slight smile and nod, watching him closely.

He smiled a small, tight smile back. “I was unaware of young Magister Pavus until the unfortunate death of his father afforded him the position, and even then he escaped my notice. I’m sure it won’t surprise you that I have little to do with the Magisterium, given my race and profession.”

“What exactly _is_ your profession?” I asked.

“Oh, did I not mention it?” he said innocently.

“Oddly enough, it didn’t come up during the card game or while you were dropping off my colleague,” I said drily. 

“I import and export rare goods,” he said, looking honestly proud, “most to a select clientele that deals in such items on a regular basis, but if someone like yourself was looking for a rare or hard-to-find item I would be the man to find it for you.”

“So that’s why as an importer/exporter you have no specific goods listed,” I said, tacitly letting him know I’d done some checking on him.

His smile this time was more genuine. “That is indeed the case.”

One thing I’d already noticed: he seemed to enjoy talking about himself. “Sorry to interrupt,” I said, “please continue.”

He gave me a brisk nod. “What got my notice was the new faction within the Magisterium that Dorian started with Magister Tilani. The very idea that they were trying to introduce the Magisterium and its rather — shall we say — hidebound policies into this new age of ours was both intriguing and exciting.”

His look grew subtly sharper and more intense as he continued, “In both my profession and my life, when something piques my interest I look into it, try to learn as much about it as I can. Perhaps the fact that I am an elf plays into this, as many think they can more easily take advantage of me, but to me it has always seemed an essential facet of my personality. Be that as it may, I looked into Dorian Pavus. The fact that he went from troublesome child to gifted student to dissolute brat merely put him into the same category as many other Altus scions, but imagine my surprise when I learned he had disappeared from Tevinter and turned up in your barbarian lands in something called the Inquisition.” 

He paused, apparently waiting for a reaction from me. I sipped my own drink and said, “Go on.” He seemed vaguely disappointed, but rallied.

“I was finding details about this Inquisition sketchy and contradictory until I managed to find a book titled _All This Shit is Weird,”_ he made an expression of distaste, “— honestly, whoever considered that a suitable title — written by one Varric Tethras, who seems to actually be a relative of Magister Tilani..?”

“Through marriage,” I confirmed. That was common knowledge.

“Despite the dreadful title and amateurishly bombastic writing, you can imagine my delight that it turned out to be a first-hand account of this Inquisition.”

I’d have to tell Varric that he should thank his publisher, seeing as his book had actually made it all the way up to Minrathous. I wasn’t sure if I’d share Docilus’ opinion of his writing.

A different sort of smile was playing about Docilus’ lips now. It was smug and decidedly less pleasant. “Though Tethras seems only to know how to paint in broad strokes, I gleaned quite a bit from that book aside from it being a rollicking account of how you and your merry band of misfits killed a scheming demigod and saved the world.”

“Such as?” I said, acting slightly bored.

“Such as it seemed to take very little time between Pavus showing up to offer his services to the Inquisition and his being a member of your inner circle. _Isn’t that odd_ , I thought to myself, _that they would trust a Tevinter mage so quickly and completely._ You see, I know the sorts of dreadful things they say about us down south. But even though Tethras was far more interested in recounting his own exploits, it was all there if you read carefully. _Dorian_ was trusted because of _you_. I finally learned your full name in the book; I think it was mentioned all of twice. Most of the time you were merely _The Inquisitor_. Tethras seemed half-convinced you really had been chosen by Andraste, which I take to be a load a superstitious nonsense?”

“Of course it is,” I said.

“Well. Being the open-minded fellow that you are, you welcomed him with open arms, just as you had with elves and dwarves and even a Qunari. But it wasn’t quite the same, was it? I noticed that increasingly, every time one of you was mentioned the other was likely to be nearby. Another man may have thought _how clever of him to align himself with the leader of the organization and ingratiate himself so quickly_ , but of course I was familiar with the scandal hereabouts concerning Pavus’ refusal to inhume his proclivities for the good cause of continuing the Pavus line. That naturally led to the thought _what if this Inquisitor Trevelyan shared his proclivities.”_

Now I actually was slightly bored. “Good for you. You figured out we were a couple. We never exactly made a secret of it.”

He looked annoyed for a moment then covered it up with another one of his slightly-creepy smiles. “My apologies. I sometimes get carried away describing the _process_ ; it’s something I find fascinating. I shall attempt to edit myself. What I found particularly interesting was _after_ you’d killed the demigod and saved the world, many of your Inquisition went home including Tethras, but Dorian stayed. He stayed for two more _years_ , in fact. I suspect that had his father not been assassinated — and let’s be honest, we all know he was assassinated — he would still be down south and we would not be having this conversation.” He gave me a probing look.

I shrugged. “It’s as good a theory as any. His father did get murdered, so it’s a moot point.”

“Yes, quite,” I could tell I’d annoyed him again. “Be that as it may, suddenly he’s back and he’s _doing_ things. And I wondered. One thing that seems to have been universally acknowledged is your leadership abilities and your almost uncanny ability to, for want of a better way to express it, make people play nice with each other. Before you quit — and much as I’d love to ask you about that, I won’t — you were making changes that affected entire _nations_. So I watched this fledgling movement called the Lucerni taking shape and wondered what he’d learned down south along with demon battling and a detailed topography of your anatomy. Because since his return he seems to have gotten much more proficient at _leading_ and convincing people to do what he wants them to do — sound familiar?”

“Is there a point to this?” I said.

“I was constructing my journey to this point so that you would understand the sincerity behind it,” he said. I think he was trying for earnest, but he sounded peevish. “Given his background with you and the Inquisition, I think that your Dorian and Magister Tilani could truly make the sweeping changes they seem to be aiming for. I would like to be a part of those changes, and I would very much like to meet with Magister Pavus to discuss in what ways I may best be able to join and aid the Lucerni.”

I cocked my head to one side and gave him a hard look. “What I don’t understand is why you need to meet Dorian specifically. I’m sure one of the other Lucerni could and would answer your questions.”

Though he kept smiling, his eyes narrowed and his entire face tightened. I was definitely pissing him off. “I don’t think you understand. I may only be an elf and a merchant, but I am a very wealthy one and I have a great deal of influence in circles that neither Dorian nor Magister Tilani has much access to or influence in. I know Laetans and Altus and Soporati. I know many people who have wealth and power but choose not to make it so publicly known as most of the magisters. I can aid them in turning their movement from an upstart faction within the Magisterium into a movement that has the people behind it.”

“The Magisterium’s never been particularly big on populist movements,” I observed blandly.

“No, the Magisterium puts down slave rebellions mercilessly, you mean. They’ve never had to contend with a movement that might attract both mages and Soporati, something that may be possible with the Lucerni. As I hope has been evinced to you by the amount of effort I put into finding out about this interesting new leader of the Lucerni, I have also put a great deal of effort into researching how best to make them a true force within the Tevinter Empire. _That_ is why I wish to speak with Magister Pavus rather than one of his underlings.”

I noticed that he couldn’t quite decide which I was going to better react to: _Dorian_ or _Magister Pavus_. He kept skipping back and forth between them. “Why not Magister Tilani?” I asked.

“Because while she brings the experience and connections, _he_ is the leader,” Docilus said. _Mae would just love to hear that… and for some reason I can’t quite fathom yet, you weren’t interested in studying her,_ I mentally amended.

I finished my lemonade, taking my time about it. “I’ll think about what you’ve proposed,” I finally said.

“You haven’t told Dorian - Magister Pavus - about this meeting?” he asked with a tinge of dismay. _Playing it safe and going with both of them now, are you?_

“Well, no. There wasn’t much to say until I spoke with you. I played cards with you and you brought my colleague back to our inn. While all that was quite nice, it wasn’t enough to trouble Dorian with meeting requests. He trusts me to vet this sort of thing and I saw no reason to say anything until I determined if there was any merit to your request.”

“And what have you determined?” He was trying to sound patiently curious and not succeeding.

“That I’ll think about it. I may discuss it with him, see what he thinks. I promise you this: I’ll get back to you in a few days’ time with an answer.” I levered myself out of my chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have some other engagements today, so I’ll take my leave. It’s been a most interesting afternoon.”

He had no choice but to follow my lead and say his goodbyes. As he escorted me to the door he told me he’d be at my disposal whenever I wished to contact him, reiterated how important this was to him, and effusively told me how delightful it had been to meet me formally. It might have been convincing if even one of his smiles had reached his eyes, but they didn’t. I was obstructing him and he was seething.

**=#=**

"So that's what he _says_ he wants," I told Dorian and Mae, who I'd suggested be present. No matter what Docilus thought, she was co-founder and co-leader of the Lucerni.

"You don't seem convinced," she said.

"I'm not. There's something he badly wants that he's not saying, but it definitely involves Dorian and _only_ Dorian. I tried to suggest he could talk to you and he was very quick to give me _reasons_ why it had to be Dorian."

"He wants to meet with me to tell me he knows important people and has ideas? Does he have any idea how many people have already told me they know important people and have ideas?" Dorian said.

"Not the calibre of _his_ people and ideas, I'm sure," I said drily. "He's very impressed with himself. He was trying to come across as pleasant, but at the end I think he would have cheerfully throttled me for not immediately agreeing to his request. You should have heard him going on about how he _researched_ us."

"You're quite sure he's not just an over-enthusiastic admirer?" Dorian said. "I still haven't heard anything that would inspire the depth of discomfort you have with him. There's a million of him in Minrathous."

I made a face. "You haven't met him. Honestly, he seems absolutely obsessed with you to the point of creepy. One minute he’s saying he barely knew who you were before the Lucerni started making waves, the next he’s blathering on about how _every_ one knew about your refusing to marry because you prefer men."

“That was not common knowledge,” Dorian frowned. "Now I'm becoming the tiniest bit uncomfortable."

"Maybe he _should_ meet Docilus," said Mae. "You could both go."

"The old 'misery loves company' theory?" Dorian said.

"More of a test," she replied. "If he really wants to talk to you about policy and helping the Lucerni, he shouldn't mind in the least that Kai's there. He knows about his political background and that the two of you are together."

"He did go to great lengths to tell me how he brilliantly gleaned that we were a couple by reading between the lines in Varric's book," I said, "so if anything, he should expect it."

"Gleaned?" Dorian blinked. "Didn't Varric flat out _say_ we are?"

"Dunno. Haven't read it," I shrugged.

"Yes, he did and you _haven't read it_?" Mae demanded.

"Whyever not?" Dorian chimed in. "He actually managed to make the whole thing surprisingly comedic _and_ thrilling, though he did dwell rather too much on himself."

"I don't know. I just feel weird about reading it."

Mae looked at Dorian concernedly. "I have to say, Dor, sometimes your amatus is a very strange man."

"I know," Dorian sighed, "He worries me on occasion."

I rolled my eyes. "All right, you two, just let me have my quirks. Varric's book aside — by the way, he _hated_ Varric's writing style — I like Mae's idea. Do we let him _know_ I'm coming?"

"No," Dorian shook his head firmly, "Let's see what he does when he sees you. When do you want to set this up for?"

"Oh, I'll make him sweat the entire two days. It'll give me some time to start hunting down Kaeso Asina, and we don't want to appear eager."

They both agreed to the plan and talk moved onto other things. That evening we went out again, this time to an entertainment that was pure Tevinter: a musical group whose music was amplified and enhanced into something completely new and different with magic while being accompanied by a magically generated light show. It was loud and bright and utterly marvelous and I was very sorry it had to end. It also reminded me once again that overall I had grown quite fond of this country despite its equally dark side. The south has some remarkably ugly aspects to it too, after all.


	37. Minrathous Undercover

The next day I got up nearly as early as Dorian for a change. The weather had improved and I found him on the balcony drinking a cup of aromatic tea. I set my own drink down and thudded into the seat beside him, yawning as I tried to shake off the sleepy feeling that was stubbornly clinging to me. I mumbled, “Morning,” and tried to get some coffee in me.

“Didn’t you sleep well?” he asked.

“I slept very well. Apparently my body wants to continue doing so at the moment.” I yawned again, which set him off. “Sorry. Do you have any plans today?”

“I thought I might try to dig a bit more into the murky past of my admirer, Vel Docilus. It’s bothersome that he seems to know a great deal about me and I know nothing about him. You?”

“I need to start looking for Asina. Thought I might go down to the district where the mercs and outriders tend to congregate, start putting a few feelers out.”

“Is that why you haven’t shaved?” He took a sip of tea, fastidiously dabbed at his moustache with a napkin.

I stifled another yawn. “Yeah, thought I might cultivate a touch of the well-dressed thug look. What do you think?”

“Let me see…” he reached over and ran a hand across my head, “Feels like sandpaper. Interesting. As I recall we’d discussed that the last time you didn’t shave for a bit but nothing ever came of it.”

I raised my eyebrows in feigned consternation. “You know, you’re right. Perhaps we should explore that thought tonight.” He gave me an arch smile as I continued, “In the meantime, where are you going to be? The hall of records?”

“I was thinking the library, actually. They have records there too and far fewer mid-level office clerks who appear to have terminal cases of constipation brought on by disapproval of one’s very existence.”

“I might meet you there later. I could spend hours in that place.” 

“Take the sending crystal with you; that way we can find each other.”

“Good idea,” I swallowed more coffee. “You’re not going to suggest you accompany me?”

“I don’t think your thuggish friends would appreciate my impeccable taste and lighthearted but rapier-like wit,” he quipped, “Rough trade is all well and good, but I prefer it on _my_ terms. Besides, I’d hate to make a social gaffe when you’re trying to be badass.”

“You remembered! I’m touched,” I said with a grin. “Though with a few key changes to your wardrobe I _could_ make you look badass too.”

“I know I look stunning in black, but I’d hate to upstage you,” he said in a treacly tone. “Best if I try to gather ammunition for our upcoming meeting.”

I shrugged. “Have it your way. Just don’t say I never offered to take you anywhere.” 

A few hours later I walked into the working-class district not far from the docks that mercenaries and sell-swords had unofficially made their own. Here you could see that Minrathous was showing the effects of age and overcrowding. Some of the older buildings were literally crumbling where they stood, held together by a shaky combination of patchwork materials and magic. Streets were crowded at all times of the day and night and garbage collection was never quite able to keep up with the amount people generated. The air always smelled slightly of it, along with salt water, stale cooking and unwashed human. There was nothing so upscale as a guild hall there, but there were a few pubs, inns and stables that were regular haunts for those of us who made a living getting others from point A to point B in one still-breathing piece, and the area was far from the worst in Minrathous.

I entered the pub I was most partial to (whimsically named _The Bent Staff_ ) and heard someone call out to me even before my eyes had adjusted to the dimmer light. I blinked and was finally able to focus; waving at me from a table near the back was an elven woman with short, platinum-blonde hair and riding leathers sporting the same sophisticated colour palette as my own. A muscular human man was sitting next to her, regarding me suspiciously. I got a beer and joined them.

“Kai! I haven’t seen you in forever! Sit down,” she said.

“Hey Ash,” I sat, “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know,” she shrugged and pointed at the man, “This is Morgan; we’ve been working together the last few months. Morgan, this is Kai. We did that super good run I told you about together.”

“Nice to meet you, Morgan,” I said. He nodded back; he didn’t look impressed. “What brings you to Minrathous?” I asked Ash.

“Got an escort job. It’s all hush-hush and pays a stonking great pile of coin. We’re just hanging about here until we get the word,” she said happily. “What about you?”

“Did a job that took me to Marnus Pell. I have friends up here, so I came up to see them, figured I’d try to line up something for the trip back south.”

“We don’t need a third,” Morgan said.

Both Ash and I stared at him. “I wasn’t asking,” I said.

Ash elbowed him in the ribs. “Morg, that’s bloody rude.” Her face blossomed into a grin, “Unless… are you _jealous?_ You’re jealous!”

Morgan glowered as she laughed. “Andraste’s balls, Morgan, what’re you thinking? We didn’t _shag_ , we just had a good run together.”

“I don’t mix business with pleasure if that’s what’s troubling you,” I said, “and I’m not trying to get in on your run. I’m just looking for something a week or two out that might enable me to get paid to go home.”

"And he's got a _boyfriend_ ," Ash added, "You know, just in case you really are jealous."

He thawed a bit but still didn’t look entirely pleased. “Sorry. Kai, was it? Didn’t mean to assume; you know how many opportunistic bastards there are in this business.”

“Of course.” I took a drink and offered to buy the next round, which made Morgan considerably warmer to me. “So how did an educated man choose to go into this business?” I asked him.

“Ed-“ he frowned, “Damn. It was ‘opportunistic’, wasn’t it?”

“In part. You don’t _want_ people to know you’re educated?”

Ash grinned at him fondly. “He’s trying to _develop a persona of looming menace_ — his words, not mine.”

“You can’t be intelligent and loom?”

He smiled cynically. “You can, but the clients seem to prefer a certain lunkishness. Not to mention when the sorts who require menacing bodyguards consider you barely more sentient than furniture, they tend to be more garrulous.”

“They run their mouths,” Ash clarified. “Next thing you know, we _know_ things.”

I grinned. “Understood. Best of luck dumbing down. Try to avoid more than two syllables; it’s a dead giveaway.”

“I know. On occasion I slip,” he said ruefully. "If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of job are you looking for?" 

"Something that pays better than escorting nobles from one party to the next," I said. "I'm up for anything that might be considered challenging or exotic providing the coin's right."

"Then you should talk to Quintus," Ash said. "You know him?"

"Never had the pleasure of talking to him properly, but we said hello to each other once. We were at the same inn and someone thought we should meet. You mean he's here in Minrathous?"

"Yeah, permanent. You can find him at A Certain Place."

"Is that some kind of code?"

She laughed, "No, that's the name of the inn he works out of. Clever, ennit?"

I rolled my eyes. "I've heard worse. Any advice on approaching him?"

"Just if you want to talk to him, you've gotta play Wicked Grace. He's mad for it. _First_ you play cards, then he'll talk to you. It's totally worth it, though. He's the best fixer in the business."

"Fancies himself more an information broker these days," Morgan said. "Probably just so he could raise his prices."

"That's the best news I've gotten all day. Thank you." I showed my appreciation by buying another round, which made Morgan almost friendly towards me. I stayed for perhaps an hour, trading stories and information. They gave me directions to the inn and I left, only mildly drunk and pleased at the way things were working out.

As I walked down the crowded streets to _A Certain Place_ , I heard the sending crystal ping in my coat. I ducked into a cluttered space between two buildings — it was too narrow to be considered an alley — and activated it. "Dorian? What's up?"

"Good, you're there," Dorian sounded agitated. "Kai, I won't be able to meet you at the library. One of the Lucerni just had an 'accident'. I'm on my way to see how she's doing."

"Shite. I'll just meet you at home, then," I said. "Is it serious?"

"I don't know yet. It sounded like it may be. I don't know how long I'll be, so don't feel like you have to wait up."

"I'm usually up anyway, but I won't wait around for you. Just be fucking careful, okay? We don't need you having an 'accident' next," I admonished him.

"Don't worry; when it comes to my own skin I go to great lengths to preserve it," Dorian said, "What about you?"

"Hm. I have a vested interest in preserving your skin too. Is it just me, or did that just sound positively ghoulish?"

Dorian laughed. "It did, but I'll overlook it. I really have to go, amatus. I'll see you at home."

I said goodbye and stowed the crystal safely in its case. Shortly I found the inn. It was a well-kept place that took up nearly half the block it was on. The second storey had cheerful flower boxes in front of the windows and its sign had been magically enhanced so the letters glowed, smoothly shifting colour from white to blue to purple and back.

I entered the common room and walked straight through to the back. Much like the inn where I'd met Fadik and Cam in Hasmal, this one had a separate room dedicated to the serious business of gambling and that was where Quintus was said to hold court.

I bought another beer and bought myself into the card game. I was pleased to see Quintus was there as advertised. The man was legendary in outrider circles, reportedly having done every madly dangerous and profitable job in Tevinter and the Free Marches for the last thirty years. When he retired from mercenary work he'd reinvented himself as a combination information broker and go-between for setting up big jobs. With any luck, this was the only contact I'd need to make; the man was that well-connected.

I played a few hands of Wicked Grace before announcing I was too famished to continue and would return once I'd gotten food. I asked Quintus to join me, which earned me a positive nod. We went to the front of the inn — where we both did order food — and took seats at a table some distance from the other patrons.

“Heard you was in town,” Quintus said without preamble, “You after something in particular or is this a social call?” He scratched at his patchy growth of beard. I knew he cultivated the ratty-looking thing as a simple but effective ploy to make people think he was less intelligent than he was.

“Bit of both, perhaps?” I suggested.

“Don’t shit me, son. It’s beneath you. You don’t come down to these parts socially; you stay up in rich-man’s-land with your own kind.” He gave me an impish grin. 

I raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve been taking your avocation as information broker seriously. But _my kind_?”

“’S a _vo_ cation these days,” he corrected me, “More profitable and less tiresome than deal-making. And don’t play stupid. Outrider is _your_ avocation. Don’t know what you do out there in the real world — yet — but you’re definitely rich and you’re a mage and that’s who you pal around with: other rich mages.”

“I’ll have you know back in the ‘real’ world I do not just associate with other rich mages,” I said, feeling oddly miffed.

He laughed. “Don’t really give a fuck, son. I’m just busting your balls for pulling me away from the card game right before I was gonna start winning. What are you looking for?”

I took a drink of beer as I considered my wording. “It’s more of a who, really.”

“I know a lot of whos,” he said, “Know _of_ even more.” 

We both stopped talking as the food arrived, digging into druffalo steak and fried potatoes. I eat quickly, but even so he was done before me. He waited patiently, drinking and watching the common room with eyes that missed nothing. Once I’d finished and gotten another drink, Quintus propped his elbows on the table and speared me with a look.

“I believe we was discussing whos,” he said. 

“Yes. I may know this person’s name, _if_ I’m correct and if he’s actually going by it.”

“Unlikely, but mayhap,” he said. “Why ask here? He a merc?”

I frowned. “Not exactly. He’s no sell-sword; I think he’s something else. Assassin or thief or both; high-end work.”

“The sorta bastard who takes exception to people looking into his business,” Quintus concluded. “I can look anyway, but it’s gonna cost.”

I gave him a wry smile. “I knew that when I pulled you away from the game.”

He smiled back. “Tell you what: Even though you hang with rich bastard mages, I won’t charge you rich-bastard-mage prices. You may be one, but you’re also a damn good ‘rider so I’ll give you my _damn good ‘rider_ rates. Sound fair?”

“More than fair,” I said.

“Right then — what do you got on this elite killer-thief of yours?”

“He would have gotten back into town — well, _if_ he’s in Minrathous — fairly recently after being gone for well over a year. He’s thirtyish, give or take a few years. His name — his real name — may be Asina, first name may be Kaeso.”

“That’s a lot of ifs and maybes,” Quintus said.

“I know. I also have this,” I pulled the sketch out of a coat pocket, “but it’s my only copy so I need to hang onto it.” I handed it to him. 

He studied it closely. “Don’t ring a bell with me right offhand, but if he’s been gone a year or more that could explain it. Hang a moment.” He disappeared into the back room, returned with a sheet of paper and a quill pen. Within minutes he’d dashed off a nearly exact duplicate of the sketch, which he handed back to me.  He grinned widely at the stupefied expression on my face. “I got skills you never imagined, son.”

“So you do,” I agreed.

“Come back in two days and I’ll tell you if I found anything. We’ll settle costs when the job’s done, but I need a spot of up-front now.”

I paid him the price we agreed on and returned to the back room. I played for perhaps another hour, managing to break even. True to his word, Quintus started winning. By the time I left he had a tidy pile of cash in front of him.

When I got back to Dorian’s he still wasn’t home so I settled down to read one of my schlocky adventure novels (which I have to admit I was enjoying immensely). I was nearly done with it when Dorian entered the study and said, “Oh good, you’re still up. I thought I might find you in here.”

“It is the most comfortable room in the house,” I said, bookmarking my page. “How’s your friend?”

“She’ll live, but she’s going to have some permanent scarring,” he said as he threw himself into his favourite chair. “Whoever set it up tried to make it look like a magical accident.”

“There’s no other reason someone might be going after her aside from her affiliation with the Lucerni?” I asked.

“Oh, there’s _always_ the possibility of another reason — this is the Magisterium we’re talking about after all — but realistically, no. She’s always made an effort to remain strictly neutral when it comes to all the cliques and factions that constantly nip at each other. She’s also emphatically _not_ the type to make magical mistakes.”

“So is this would-be assassin some kind of amateur or is it something like my secret -um- is dis‑admirer a word?”

Dorian ran his fingers through his hair, looking frustrated. “I wish I knew. It could be they are just trying to scare people away from us. Or someone could merely be doing it for shits and giggles.”

“Pretty ballsy or bloody stupid if they are,” I said. “You know, I might be able to find out something through my contacts.”

He squinted at me. “Who _are_ these people you’re so friendly with? I thought they were mercenaries and outriders, not assassins and thugs.”

“There’s some overlap,” I admitted. “Most of it’s exactly what you’d think, but sometimes the things or people you escort or protect aren’t exactly… legal. Or people try to get a few extra services on the side, you know?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, “I know very well. I must say, this is a side of you I’ve never gotten to see before. Perhaps I _should_ accompany you next time.”

“You’re welcome to. But only because I know you _are_ capable of fitting in with that crowd. Otherwise I’d tell you to stay away for your own good.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. I do wonder what you’re basing your opinion on, though.”

“You managed to make it from Tevinter to Redcliffe and the Inquisition without any coin or support; you can’t do that whilst acting like a pampered high-born brat. You also slogged along with everyone else through every maker-forsaken shithole in Ferelden and Orlais and proved you should be taken seriously as a tactician and a hell of a combat mage. You just did it with more style than the rest of us. I know you’re smart, adaptable and able to improvise and that’s all you need in order to step outside the circle of people you normally associate with.” I stretched in my chair, feeling both my shoulders crack after sitting still for so long. “Besides, if you _don’t_ act appropriately around those people, they’ll fucking kill you in a much more straightforward manner than pretty little fake accidents.”

“Now, that makes it even more intriguing. Is there anything I should know before venturing into this seedy underworld of yours?”

I laughed. “You know what to do. Just follow my lead.”

“Perhaps I should go by some appropriately badass name,” he mused.

“If you call yourself Spike or Deathmask or Jonas the Butcher or something I shan’t associate with you."

“Jonas the Butcher? Where in the world did that come from?”

I grinned. “Actually, it’s the name of my butcher in Hasmal. But just stick with Dorian, please. It’ll be much easier to remember and I very much doubt anyone is going to associate you with Magister Pavus of Qarinus. All you have to do is quell your innate sense of style for one day and dress more like me.”

He sighed dramatically. “Very well. I suppose it’ll be worth it to see the famed mage outrider Kai Trevelyan in action. Incidentally, how is it that you’re fine with everyone knowing who _you_ are?”

“Because quite a few people out there barely remember or give two fucks about the Inquisition, fewer still remember anything specific about The Inquisitor beyond that Herald of Andraste nonsense and bits of what we actually did, and those who _do_ know who I was also know I walked away from it. For the most part it just gives me some interesting stories to tell around the campfire at night.”

“Huh,” he said as he mulled that over, “odd to think that something that big would become that insignificant so quickly.”

“Don’t worry, it even catches me off-guard at times,” I said. “Cam — the elf I travelled with on the way up here; he’s about Sera’s age — dismissed the whole thing with _oh well, it was a long time ago_.”

“A long time ago?” Dorian shook his head disbelievingly, “I suddenly feel very old.”

I laughed. “Tell me about it. So, you feel like turning in, old man?”

He gave me a hooded look. “Maybe not turning in quite yet, though we could head in that general direction. As I recall, we were going to investigate the creative possibilities of your hair being in that sandpapery stage.”

“Well, far be it from me to stifle the creative process.”


	38. A Circular Conversation

The next day I slept in, as Dorian’s morning was eaten up conferring with people about things he couldn’t talk to me about, which meant he was working on stopping the ongoing threat of the mad demigod Fen’Harel, who - if you remember - wanted to destroy the world so he could remake it the way _he_ liked. 

In a way this was my own fault; back in the Inquisition days we’d needed some help to defeat the mad demigod Corypheus ( _do you note a pattern here?_ ) and I’d chosen to drink the Well of Sorrows (which wasn’t really a well; it’s…the combined knowledge and lifeforce of generations of high priests of the elven god Mythal, and yes I know what that sounds like). That gave us the edge we needed, but sometimes I regret consuming the bloody thing. Except for the few times it had been invaluable, the collective that was the Well has been bloody useless to me (and I to them, I’m sure). It also meant I was under a geas to serve Mythal should she so desire. So far she hadn’t, but we all agreed it would just figure if she showed up at some crucial moment to command me to work for his side. Therefore it was agreed to keep me mostly in the dark and far away from everything important. I was still rather hoping I’d be able to be there when Fen’Harel was stopped just so I could punch him in the head.

Once I did get up, I spent the first part of my day on the balcony with coffee and the next book in my schlock novel series. Eventually I felt restive and unsure what to do about it. I couldn’t go back down to check with Quintus until the following day, and I didn’t want to contact Vel Docilus too early, since the whole idea was to make him sweat wondering if I was going to contact him at all. 

Finally I left a note for Dorian and went to the Library (believe me, the Minrathous Library rates the capital ‘L’) where I spent some hours researching the Asinas, getting distracted by side topics and researching _them_ , then giving up all pretense of researching and simply reading whatever caught my interest. When Dorian finally found me I was skimming through _The Origins of Veil Manipulation in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Thought Process_ (it turned out I already knew most of the information in the book, but there were a few bits that gave me some ideas on improving aspects of my spellcasting I’d always been dissatisfied with).

“A little light reading?” he said as he sat down across from me.

“Just looking for ideas,” I replied. “I haven’t had access to a good magical library for a long time. Are you done conferring then?”

“At long last, yes. I should have put a tracker on you, though. I think I’ve been over half the Library looking for you.”

“I’d forgotten just how big this place is,” I said by way of apology. “Did you reach any conclusions? A simple yes or no will do.”

“Of course not. Meetings don’t end in conclusions, they simply generate more meetings.”

I chuckled, “Which is why I am more than content to let you alone to have your meetings whether it be with the Lucerni or others. I served my time in that particular hell.”

“It may interest you to know you have gotten no less than three cautiously anxious messages from Vel Docilus since you departed for this edifice,” Dorian said with a smirk. “When do you intend to answer him?”

I thought about it. “Have you eaten yet?” He indicated he hadn’t. “Then I’ll send him a message after we do.”

Once we’d eaten and returned to Dorian’s, we sat down and penned the note to Docilus together and sent it off with a messenger. In so little time that I suspected Docilus had made the messenger wait while he wrote his response, we got an answer.

“He would like to meet with you this evening, at your convenience of course,” I read aloud, “Would you like to meet him?”

“I don’t know, would I?”

“It might be interesting.”

“Then by all means,” Dorian said, “Where does he want this momentous summit to take place?”

“His place. He’s promising refreshments if you trust him enough to eat anything.”

“I’m not sure that I do,” Dorian said thoughtfully.

“Well, he is trying to curry your favour at the moment, and I’ll be there whether he likes it or not, but I’ll concede to your greater experience in Tevinter society.”

“Perhaps I should suggest neutral territory. That’s what I’d normally do.”

I nodded. “Probably best to, then. The only advantage to meeting him at his place is that’s where he’s most comfortable so he’s likely to let more slip.”

“I shall be urbane and respectful and listen intently to his every word. You said he’s terribly impressed with himself, so that should put him at ease rather quickly,” Dorian said.

“Sounds good to me. Where, then?”

“The Circle has rooms for private meetings that are warded against all manner of magical nastiness. Would you be all right with that?”

I smiled wryly. “As long as they have prominently displayed exits.”

“It may help when you see the Minrathous Circle doesn’t resemble any Circle you’ve ever seen down south,” Dorian assured me.

I made a non-committal noise and wrote our counter-offer, handing it to the waiting messenger. I hadn’t set foot in a Circle since I’d walked away from mine. I knew it was an entirely different situation in Tevinter; I simply have a knee-jerk flight response to the word. This was going to be an interesting evening.

**=#=**

Some hours later we approached the majestic edifice of the Minrathous Circle. Dorian had dressed for the occasion in one of his grander ensembles; I wore my customary black, though of a much finer material and more stylish cut than the sturdy riding gear I tend to default to. He was correct in saying it didn’t resemble any Circle in the south. Magic had made the place into a surreal, exquisitely lit palace; compared to the Minrathous Circle, Halamshiral looked like a somewhat better class of mud hut.

I walked through the doors beside Dorian, trying not to look like I was gawking and probably not succeeding. He approached a mage who was apparently some sort of major-domo while I hung slightly back, and shortly we were led down a hallway (the ceiling generated its own soft light) to a sumptuously appointed room. Comfortable, low chairs and divans circled a round table that dominated the centre of the room. The lighting was pleasant and diffuse, emanating from permanently spelled orbs in the ceiling that could be magically manipulated to any desired colour and intensity. A pleasantly-scented breeze kept the air fresh and at a perfect temperature. As we chose where to sit, slaves came in with fresh drinks and trays of refreshments. We’d purposefully arrived before we’d told Docilus to; just a small way of gaining the upper hand early on.

Once the slaves had departed, Dorian turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“You were right. It’s nothing like any Circle down south,” I said. “Not thrilled about the slaves, of course, but otherwise colour me impressed.”

“If it makes you feel any better, some of the Circle slaves apparently wield a rather frightening amount of power behind the scenes from what I hear,” he said cheerfully. “You should try one of those fizzy blue drinks — they’re delicious.”

I did, and it was. “I feel positively decadent,” I said complacently. “Too bad this is a business meeting.”

“Still worried about the exits?” Dorian teased.

“Still want to know where they are and how quickly I can reach them, yes,” I replied, “Gilded cages and all that.”

“You’ve become terribly cynical in your old age; where _did_ that fresh-faced young Inquisitor go?”

I was about to reply when the major domo ushered Docilus into the room. He looked at Dorian with almost hungry enthusiasm then noticed me, the black-clad cloud over his sunny confab. For a brief moment a look of pure rage flashed over his face, gone so quickly that if I hadn’t been watching closely I would have missed it. He pasted on a smile and said, “Magister Pavus, my sincere and heartfelt thanks for agreeing to see me. And I see Lord Trevelyan has accompanied you.”

“Indeed,” Dorian said unhelpfully, “Please — sit. I understand you have some interest in the Lucerni. I’m curious as to what might be such important and privileged subject matter that you’d need a face-to-face meeting with me as opposed to my most trusted associate or one of the other Lucerni.”

As Docilus launched into his spiel and Dorian pretended enthusiasm, I watched the elf. He was eyeing Dorian greedily, but not in a way that suggested any physical attraction. It was strange and unsettling. His words were blameless; he seemed to be truly interested in doing whatever he could to further the cause of the Lucerni and expand their influence. He was asking smart, penetrating questions of Dorian and listening intently to Dorian’s answers. Perhaps too intently? I was having difficulty deciding how much of what I was seeing was really happening and how much was my misinterpretation because the bastard made my skin crawl. To make matters worse, Docilus really did have some good ideas and not all of Dorian’s interest was feigned. As an outsider with near-insider knowledge of the Magisterium, he was providing Dorian with some new perspectives on how to manipulate situations so that the Lucerni came out looking like the hero as well as suggesting unexplored avenues that could increase their power.

Dorian had been correct: as time passed, Docilus grew more comfortable and animated. I sat back and said nothing and eventually he stopped looking over at me, which was what I'd been hoping. Not long after, a pattern to Docilus' behaviour began to emerge. It was subtle but persistent and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I'd have to wait until Docilus left to see if Dorian had any thoughts about it.

As we'd agreed beforehand, just past the one-hour mark Dorian put a halt to the meeting. Docilus thanked him profusely for the opportunity _blather blather such an honour fawn fawn,_ gave me a polite nod and thank you and finally left. We agreed to return to Dorian's before discussing anything; it was as though the sheer amount of verbiage that had just been expended had left the room feeling oppressive.

We walked back and I took a few minutes to change back into my usual trousers and a sleeveless shirt and remove the prosthesis. It had gotten bloody uncomfortable ever since I'd pulped the Qunari raider's head with it and I was now spending more time not wearing it than ever before. Dorian poured himself a glass of brandy, I got a beer and we retired to his study.

"Arm bothering you?" Dorian asked.

"I think I permanently dented it all over. It doesn't fit right anymore. As a result, every time I wear it, it tries to dent _my_ arm; starts hurting within a half hour or less now. So what did you think of your new friend Vel?"

Dorian cocked his head thoughtfully. "He did actually have some very good ideas, if not quite as original as he seems to think. He's certainly effusive enough for any five normal people."

"Yes, but what kind of feeling did you get off him? Am I completely barking mad or not?"

"You're not. Honestly? It felt like he wanted to devour me."

I nodded. "It looked like it too."

"Did you see something or was that just your general impression?"

"Once he relaxed I saw something all right. He was studying you."

He took a sip of his drink and raised his eyebrows at me. "Studying?"

"Once he forgot I was there, he got a little more relaxed about doing it. He was watching and listening. I could _see_ him copying your mannerisms, and as the two of you talked he was mimicking your speech patterns. He was getting very good at them, too. It was becoming extremely creepy."

"To what end?" Dorian frowned. "He could hardly pass for me."

"That, my dear, is the winning question."

"He could make a glamour of me on himself, I suppose, but too many people would be able to nullify it. I don't see the point."

"What if he went out in public as you and did something despicable? Something to make you look dreadful?" I speculated.

"If he was just interested in that, why this big dog and pony show about the Lucerni?" Dorian objected.

"To get you talking? You’d hardly agree to a long conversation if he just wanted to tell you he thinks the Lucerni are bollocks." I shrugged, "Honestly, I have no idea. I suppose we'll have to wait and see what he does next. I know I don't trust him as far as I could spit."

"How far _can_ you spit?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"…No."


	39. Minrathous Confidential

"Just leave your hair a little messier, that's all."

Dorian frowned at the mirror. "Messier. Is messy a requirement?"

I was poking at my prosthesis, trying to see if there was a way to make it more comfortable, but deep down I knew I’d simply inflicted too much damage on it. "Don't think of it as messy. Think of it as windblown."

"I can do windblown," he allowed. 

"Just go for your Inquisition look, but scarier. Maybe if I stuffed some cotton in this…do you have any cotton?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. Scarier, huh?" He glared ferociously at the mirror.

"That just makes you look demented. Who would know if there was cotton?"

"The staff?" he said vaguely, "You do know if you just stuff wads of cotton in that thing they'll bunch up and you'll be worse off than before. I don't know that I _can_ look scarier."

"Maybe let your moustache droop? Obviously I'd put the cotton _in_ something so it doesn't bunch."

Dorian spun around to glare at me. "Let my moustache _droop_? That is not badass, it's just gauche. I'm surprised you'd even suggest such a thing."

"I'm sorry. It was a terrible thought," I said contritely.

"It certainly was." He turned back to the mirror and mussed his hair, frowned and mussed it another way.

"You really should take most of those metal bits off your armour," I advised. "They're superfluous. They don't really help much. It's like those shoulder guards they kept sticking on my coat."

"Without the metal bits it's not really armour, though," Dorian objected.

" _With_ them it's too sparkly. You _do_ remember Varric's nickname for you."

"But it's just armour-y leather then."

"Perfect! That's the look we want."

He sighed. "How did I ever end up with a man who is so devoted to being drab?"

"Black isn't drab."

"You're impossible."

"And yet you love me," I said complacently. "I may have to sand the inside of this. I think it got warped."

"There's no time for you to take up carpentry right now. What if you put a sock on your arm? Help me take these blasted metal bits off, would you?"

I did as he asked; it would go more quickly that way. "How would you suggest I get a sock to stay put? Talk about something that would bunch up and defeat the purpose. How bloody many metal bits are on here?”

“Enough to make things glimmer when I’m casting combat spells. It makes me a symphony of lethality.”

I laughed. “Well, you may no longer be a symphony, but you'll see — this'll look good even without your accents." 

"Naturally it'll look good, I'll be wearing it," he said. "But I’ve always _liked_ how the metal compliments my fighting style."

"Yes, it’s very flashy, but we don't want flashy today. I know it's something of an affront to your sensibilities, but you need to just blend in. We're trying to get a line on a murderer, remember? Maker, I don't feel like putting that fucking arm on."

"So don't. There has got to be a quicker way to remove these things."

"Yeah, get a set made that doesn't have sparkly metal bits on it. I can't not wear it — it's useful for things like holding cards."

Dorian brightened. "Are we likely to be playing cards?"

"Definitely. The fellow we're going to see is deeply devoted to Wicked Grace. It's practically required that you play a few hands if you want to talk to him."

"I do so like adventuring with you. You know all the _fun_ criminals."  

We took a coach partway downtown to save time. Dorian had found a windblown look he could live with and with his newly de-sparkled armor would fit in with the mercenary crowd just fine. I was still fiddling with my arm in a fruitless attempt to make it more comfortable. He ran a hand over my head and said, “Hm. Not sandpaper anymore. Now it feels like the pelt of some exotic short-haired animal. Why are you doing this, did you say?”

“So if anyone tells Asina someone’s been looking for him before I’m ready for him, they’re most likely to describe some guy with short black hair who needs a shave. One of the main things people seem to know about me is I’m bald, so it’s a cheap disguise."

“It’s interesting. You don’t look as bad as you did the last time for some reason.”

“Ha. That’s because the last time I was about fifteen pounds lighter, had just lost my arm and was sick and looked it. The time before that was the fade demon and I was three-quarters dead. You’ve never seen me healthy with hair.”

“You’re right,” he said with mild surprise, “I never realized.”

“Well, don’t get used to it. It comes back off as soon as I don’t need it.”

“Quite all right, amatus, I prefer you bald. This is simply a novelty.”

The coach pulled to a stop and we paid the driver, walking the remaining blocks to our destination. I suggested we go to the _Bent Staff_ first so he could get a feel for the area. We got a drink each and took them to a booth near the back of the place. “I’m getting flashbacks of a hundred different pubs we visited with the Inquisition,” he said. “It’s like the same committee went all over Thedas building them. _You say you want a pub built? We have a splendid variety of layouts and you can choose any one of the three of them._ ”

I laughed. “If your pub has too original a layout it becomes a nightclub. There’s undoubtedly more money that has to change hands for a nightclub.”

“Fiendishly clever of them,” Dorian agreed.

Suddenly a pair of hands covered my eyes and a familiar voice said, “Guess who?”

“There’s only one person who ever does that to me, so hello, Ash.”

The hands disappeared and Ash was grinning as she came round the table. “Where’s your scary boyfriend?” I asked her.

“He got a solo job while we’re waiting. He’s spending a few days _looming_ over people for some rich twat who thinks he needs a bodyguard.” She eyed Dorian, “Who’s _this_ then?”

“ _My_ scary boyfriend,” I said, “Dorian, this is Ash. Ash, Dorian.”

“Delighted,” Dorian said.

“Likewise,” Ash replied and winked at me. “Well done. What’s with all that hair? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

I shrugged, “Trying something different. Don’t think I’ll stick with it though; my head gets too hot.” 

“Okay if I join you? Lemme get a drink.” Ash trotted off to the bar.

I turned to Dorian, “See? She nearly didn’t recognize me and we spent a week and a half together as outriders for a troupe of minstrels. Best run I’ve ever done.”

“Fetching girl. I like her,” Dorian said. 

"She's bright, charming _and_ lethal, what's not to like?"

"We seem to know a lot of women like that."

"I like women like that. If I was attracted to them, I'd want a woman like that. The second I get my new arm I swear to Andraste I am burning this one," I groused.

"You're burning what? Skooch over, would you?" Ash said.

I skooched as Dorian said, "Kai dented his arm on a Qunari. Now he won't stop whinging about it."

"Well what'd you expect? Qunari are _all_ hard bits. That's why you need to stab 'em or magic 'em."

"I'll remember that next time," I said drily.

"Just trying to help," she said with an insincere smile, "You still looking for work?"

"We're down here to meet Quintus," I said.

"Ooooh, good on you. Hope it pays like ours."

"Is yours even real? It seems like you've been waiting an awfully long time."

"'Course it is — it's a Quintus job too," she said confidently.

We talked a bit longer while we drank, mainly recounting stories from our run with the minstrel troupe, then Dorian and I left to make our meeting with Quintus.

"This is fascinating," Dorian said cheerfully as we walked to the inn, "you're like _you_ , but a slightly different version of you. Why did I never hear about this minstrel troupe run? I don't recall you not talking to me for that amount of time."

"It was the first time I came up when Maevaris and I had arranged it all behind your back. I was talking to you every night but pretending I was back in Hasmal."

"Oh yes, a sneaky bit of underhandedness that was. Still, I'm glad you did it."

"You'd _better_ say that," I growled. "If we'd left it up to you, you'd still be fretting about how I should sneak in in the dead of night so no one was the wiser."

“Ash said you’re a good dancer,” he said, ignoring my comment.

“I am a good dancer.”

“Yes, _I_ know that, but how does _she_ know that?”

“It was a troupe of professional musicians. They rehearsed a lot. They tried new things out on each other. Sometimes dancing happened.”

“I thought you were supposed to be watching for bad guys.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes there _weren’t_ any bad guys.”

He gave me a mock-suspicious look. “I don’t know about this. Here I’ve been picturing you squinting into the darkness on some cold, lonely bluff while your charges slumber below and it turns out you’ve been down in the midst of them dancing and most probably carousing shamelessly.”

“I only caroused when Ash was on watch,” I said pleasantly. “And I made sure to squint into the darkness at least once an hour whether it was dark or not. Besides, that only happens with minstrel troupes.”

“So you claim,” he said.

Our conversation was cut short as we reached the inn. Once again, we bought drinks and I led Dorian to the back room. The card game was in full swing as usual; fortunately Quintus was already at the table. He acknowledged me with a slight nod, and as soon as there was an opportunity we bought our way into the game. We played perhaps four hands — Dorian won one and I broke even — before Quintus announced he was taking a break. That was our cue to leave the game as well, and we met him at the same table out front where I’d talked to him last time.

As we approached Quintus looked askance at Dorian. “This is Dorian,” I told him, “He’s a friend of mine. We’re working together.” We sat.

“That so? Well, it’s your neck.” He shrugged. “Price is the same either way.” He turned his attention to Dorian. “So — you a rich bastard mage or a ‘rider?”

“Both,” Dorian replied with a crooked smile.

Quintus nodded. “Good enough. If you was a full-time ‘rider I’d know you. Let’s get to business then. I have your information, but there’s the matter of coin first.” He told me a price.

“A bit rich, isn’t that? It was my understanding that your compensation depends to some degree on the quality of the information,” I said.

“Nope, the _bonus_ you give me depends on the quality. Time and labour up front — whether the information’s shite or not I still had to put myself out to get it.”

“I only have your word for how much labour you put into it,” I objected. I wasn’t being difficult; haggling was an expected aspect of dealing with Quintus.

“Them’s the breaks,” the older man grinned, “I coulda just gone to his old granny’s place and asked where your man is these days, but it was still _my_ ass standing on granny’s porch, not yours.”

“Then I should be able to deduct the cookies and hard lemonade she undoubtedly served you,” I countered.

“She couldn’t bake and the lemonade was soft.”

“Ha! Then you admit to being fed.”

He grinned approvingly. “All right then. You’re a smartass but a clever one. I’ll give you my _clever smartass_ discount on _toppa_ my damn good ‘rider discount, but that’s the last you’re gonna squeeze outta me.” He named a new price.

“You’re a hard but fair man, Quintus,” I said as I paid him. “So what did you find?”

“It’s an odd duck you’re after,” he said. “Name you got is correct: Kaeso Asina. Same last name as that rich bastard Altus family, but he couldn’t be related ‘cause he don’t have a lick of magic, right?”

“So far so good,” I said. “Have anything new to tell me?”

“He don’t use some silly code name like a lotta wetwork fellas. Seems to enjoy using that rich bastard family name. He’s got himself set up somewhere southwest of here; couldn’t suss out where. Only deals with high-cost jobs and he picks and chooses those.”

“So he is an assassin?” Dorian asked.

“Yeah, but the man believes in diversity. Looking at the sorts of things he's done, my feeling is he does it for the challenge. Novelty jobs, y’know?  Well, that and he seems to straight up enjoy killing. Known a lot of folks like that. You’re smart, you do like him and get yourself set up in a profession where that’s a _good_ thing.”

“I take it one can’t just go up and knock on his front door,” I said.

“No, he’s big on that _I_ come to _you_ routine. You put the word out you got a job, he hears about it and likes it, he tells you when and where he’ll meet you. Typical rich bastard puffery, you ask me, but it seems to impress his clients, so what do I know?”

“How would one go about putting out word so he hears about it?” I asked.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms above the beginnings of a pot belly. “It just so happens that I know a fella who knows a fella, so to say.”

“As in you could put word out?” Dorian said.

“How ‘bout that — he’s not just a pretty face,” Quintus feigned surprise.

“Would it only work if I manufacture a job, or would he be sufficiently intrigued if I put out word I want to meet with him?” I asked.

“S’pose only he knows that, but I did tell you the man seems to crave novelty. It’d depend on how novel he finds you and the word you choose to send,” Quintus said.

“In that case, how about we extend your services to disseminating my terribly intriguing words?”

“I could see my way clear to doing that,” he nodded, “for the same rates, naturally.”

“I get an answer and an appointment with him, I might think about increasing your bonus,” I replied. “But only if we defer the current bonus until then.”

“Current bonus stands regardless.”

“Of course. But you don’t get anything for the time it takes me to write the message and bring it to you. You’d be sitting here playing cards and doing business whether you were waiting for me or not.”

“You’re a cold man, Kai, a cold man,” he lamented.

“And you probably _do_ know Asina’s old granny.”

He laughed. “All right, you rich mage bastards, you’ve got a deal. Bring me the bait and I’ll stick it on the hook for you. But you pay me _before_ you meet with him — I hate trying to collect from dead men.”

"Just to make it clear: basic rate for sticking it on the hook. Bonus only kicks in when he bites."

"You'd make the messenger suffer if your message ent good enough?"

"When you put it like that, yes."

" _Cold_ ," he repeated, "but all right, you got yourself a deal. Bonus when he bites, no sooner, but you pay the deferred bonus regardless."

“Done,” I agreed and we shook on it. “I’ll bring you the message tomorrow. Any suggestions what might intrigue him?”

“You’re the ones with the same smartass education as him. You’ll figure something out. Anything else?"

"Perhaps," Dorian said. I looked at him in surprise. 

"Can't do nothing with perhaps. Don't figure you for looking for work, so's there something you wanna know?"

"What will it cost me if you don't have to go looking for the information?" Dorian countered.

“You’re merely asking me to share summa my encyclopaedic knowledge?”

“That’s it. Barely any bother to you at all.”

“Took effort on my part to learn these things. You can’t expect me to go around handing it out for free,” Quintus said solemnly. “You ask me the question and I’ll give you a price.”

“Are you going to give me the rich bastard mage price or do I rate one of your discounts?” Dorian said with a slight smile.

“We’ll see. You got the man in black here to confirm I’m not inflating my rates past normal. What’s the question?”

“I was just wondering if there’s anyone currently doing wetwork in the city.”

Quintus raised a bushy eyebrow. “Looking to hire?”

“No, just wanted to know if you’re aware of anything happening right now.”

“This is Minrathous, son, there’s _always_ some kinda wetwork going on,” he chuckled. “You gotta be more specific.”

“I’ve heard rumours that someone may be targeting magisters again. I was wondering if you were aware of anything,” Dorian said.

“Ah. That takes a longer answer, but I’ll allow it’s a simple one.” He named a price.

Dorian scoffed, “Just because this is our first meeting doesn’t mean you can give me ingénue rates.”

Quintus grinned widely. “Right then, I’ll give you my special _been around the block_ discount.” He named another price. “How’s that set with you?”

Dorian made a great show of thinking about it. “It sets a bit high, frankly, depending on your information. If you tell me the equivalent of _I don’t know_ I will give you half the amount for half an answer. How does that set with you?”

Quintus sighed. “Another cold one.”

“Positively icy,” Dorian agreed. “Do we have a deal?”

“I suppose. Shoulda just given you the rich bastard mage price, though,” Quintus said. “Right. Short answer is no. There’re no professionals working magisters right now. Long answer is you’re hardly ever _gonna_ find any because they don’t like to go outside their own private club for squat. Ego and arrogance. They don’t think anyone who ent a magister is capable of doing the job. I’ll allow some of ‘em are skilled at it, but not as many as think they are. Last outside contract I know of was a few years ago, give or take.”

“Who was the target?” I asked, even though I was afraid I knew the answer.

“Pavus,” Quintus replied. “Howard, I think his first name was. They’d tried for him before, but he always slipped past them. Dunno what he did to piss who off, but they hired outside their rich bastard crowd for him.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said, his expression unreadable, “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Seen signs of restlessness coming from that direction — some new faction ruffling feathers — but they’ve had centuries to practice keeping it in the family as they say. I can do some more looking, but prying inta the Magisterium’ll cost you steep — that crew’s got no sense of humor comes to folks wanting to know their business.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Dorian replied. “I’d say what you’ve given me was deserving of your price.”

“I aim to please,” Quintus said benignly, taking the money Dorian handed him. “Care to play a few more hands before you go?”

I glanced at Dorian, who gave me a slight nod. “Of course.” As I stood, Quintus leaned over, whispered something to Dorian that seemed to nonplus him, and winked. We went back into the card room, where we played for another hour or so. Neither one of us won or lost a great deal, though I think I ended up with a bit less coin than I started with. 

Once we were outside the inn I asked Dorian, “You okay with what he told you?”

“About Father?” He nodded. “It’s a relief, really. To hear it confirmed that it was no accident. At least he made them work for it. I’ll still have to kill them, of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “If you don’t mind my changing the subject, what was that he whispered to you?”

He looked at me with a bemused expression. “He said _first time we’ve had a magister in the game, nice to see you’re human_ , gave me what I believe was supposed to be a chummy elbow to the ribs and added _you should do yourself a favour and keep him around permanent_. Then he winked at me.”

“Huh. He’s really taking this information broker thing seriously. So he knew who you were the entire time.”

“It would seem so,” he half-smiled. “You know, he _probably_ knew all about Asina before you asked him, too.” 

“Probably,” I said philosophically, “but he’s the one who can get me in to _see_ Asina. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw him at that inn.”

 We walked through streets that had grown more crowded as dusk fell. Most people got out of our way. After a few minutes of silence Dorian said impatiently, “All right, why aren’t you saying anything about it?”

“About what?” I said innocently.

“You know what. The second thing he said.”

“Because some things are simply self-evident.”

“You put him up to it, didn’t you?”

I stopped and looked him in the eyes. “I swear to you, Dorian, I did not put Quintus up to anything. Do you know how much he would have charged me?”

“Then how would he-“

“I have no idea. Maybe he’s just very perceptive, not to mention correct. We should get something to eat while we’re out.”

I think Dorian enjoyed slumming more than he'd expected: after eating, he was all for doing a bit of a pub crawl, in the course of which we found a new place that had a surprisingly good singer. Then we ran into some people I was acquainted with and what with one thing and another we got back late enough that we were in no condition to pen anything even vaguely intriguing. Promising to get to it first thing in the morning, we crawled into bed and were sleeping the sleep of the seriously inebriated within minutes.


	40. Creative Writing and an Invitation

"So what sort of thing would a thrill-seeking murder enthusiast find intriguing?" I was doodling on one corner of the blank paper in front of me.

Dorian looked at me blearily. "Someone challenging him to try and kill them while cliff diving naked into barnacles? Can't this wait? Why are you not hung over?"

"Told you not to drink those sugary green things you were enjoying so much at the last place," I said a bit smugly. "That's what'll get you every time."

"You could at least have the decency to be sympathetic," he sulked.

"Not when you have more than enough experience at general debauchery to know better."

"Beast. Is there any more coffee?"

I checked. "Some. I'll get someone to get us more, although you're really defeating the purpose when you put sugar in the coffee too."

"Since it's the only thing that makes it palatable, I'll take my chances, thank you. Gah."

I flagged down a passing servant to request more coffee then resumed my attempts at composing something that might interest Asina. It wasn't easy. All I could think of were silly take-offs on lonely hearts ads.

      _We met in Val Royeaux. You: dashing Nevarran librarian. Me: The sultry one with the haunting green_  
_eyes. Meet me at the newsstand on the Street of Illusions._

_Looking for that special someone. Must enjoy things deadly and thrilling… like those days in Val Royeaux._

_Are absinthe-fueled assassination and murderously avant-garde art in the Grand Cathedral your thing? Mine_  
_too. Let's meet._

"Dorian, you're supposed to be helping. You are not helping and I'm writing shite," I complained. I doodled a heart with a sad face in the middle of it.

"Pour me some of the fresh coffee and I'll try," he said. While I'd been penning those gems a servant had brought a new container out. I did as he asked and handed him a cup, wincing as he defiled it with sugar. "Let's see what you've got," he said. He read through them quickly and looked up at me with a grin. "You're right — these are dreadful. _The sultry one with the haunting green eyes_? You don't even _have_ green eyes."

"Poetic license. It's not necessarily supposed to describe _me_ , just someone that might interest him. Problem is, every time I try to think of a message that'll make him want to meet, all I can think of is stupid lonely hearts stuff."

"How about _Kaeso: It's time we meet. Love and kisses, Kai._ "

"For all I know that's exactly what we're looking for," I said, "though adding in kisses so soon might be a bit forward."

"Well your well-informed friend did say he likes novelty."

“How about _Missing pet, answers to name of Kaeso. Reward. Bonus if recovered with all his papers_?”

“Hm. Would being referred to as a pet make him cross?”

“What if we called him a _beloved_ missing pet? I have no idea if the man has a sense of humour, so how can I possibly guess what’s going to make him cross?”

“Write a few and see if you can get Quinto to pick the best.”

“Quintus,” I corrected.

“Amatus, I truly couldn't care less.”

“He’ll find a way to charge me if I do that.”

Dorian fixed me with a grumpily stern glare. “Kai. You have money. I happen to know you have more money than you could possibly spend in a lifetime. Just pay the man a bit extra.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” I objected. Dorian raised one finely-sculpted eyebrow. “Oh, all right. I’ll pay the man. I’ll just bill the Chantry.”

We managed to hash out a few messages that might work, though I have to admit I’d grown fond of the Beloved Pet idea. Dorian begged off accompanying me back to Quintus’ inn, citing his crippling hangover as an excuse, so I made the trek myself. I did pay Quintus an extra silver to look the messages over and was privately gratified that he, too, liked the pet ad. He promised to get it out to the right people and places when I left, so all that remained for the time being was to wait for some kind of word from Asina. We agreed that if neither of us had received a response within a week, I’d meet him again and we’d try a different message.

When I got back to Dorian’s I found him waiting impatiently for me. He hauled me into the study, where Maevaris was already ensconced in the most comfortable chair. “Hi, Kai,” she said cheerfully.

“Hey, Mae,” I took the second most comfortable seat, saying to Dorian, “I see you've recovered. What’s got you so excited?”

“This arrived while you were out,” he showed me a sheet of vellum.

“Vellum? Who- oh, fuck me. I just made the connection.”

“What connection?” asked Mae.

“Vellum; Vel; Vel Docilus?”

“The one and only,” Dorian confirmed.

“The man would honestly waste sheets of vellum on a sorry pun like that?” Mae groaned. “For that alone he should be put away somewhere where he can do no further harm.”

“What does our favourite creepy mage want?”

Dorian perched on the edge of his desk and skimmed the message. “He desperately needs to meet with me tonight at his place. It appears to be of vital importance that I come alone. He makes a point of that more than once.”

“What does he want and why does he need you alone?” I didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

“He doesn’t say, except to say that he can’t say and he’ll explain everything once I get there.”

“You’re not going to do it, are you?” Mae said.

“I don’t like this, Dorian. The bastard’s up to something,” I added darkly.

“Oh, he’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the balls,” Dorian agreed, “But don’t you want to know _what_ he’s up to? He could need decorating tips.”

I pulled my shirtsleeve up and set about unstrapping the prosthesis. “I’m sure he could use the benefit of your impeccable taste, but something tells me that’s not what he’s after. What do you want to do?”

“I think I should go,” he said, smoothing his mustache pensively, “at best he’s an unknown, and a creepy one at that. At worst he’s a threat that needs to be neutralized before he does any lasting damage.”

“I’d be curious to know how long he’s been fixating on you,” Mae said. “Did he come up with whatever he’s up to when he recognized Kai in the crossroads, or was he already planning on coming after you?”

“I’d say the latter,” I told her. “He didn’t know me from the Inquisition; he knew me because I’m with Dorian. He told me as much, said he’d been _researching_ Dorian since the Lucerni became a thing.” I tossed the prosthesis on the table in front of me and rubbed my arm; the damned thing left it sore and irritated every time now.

“He keeps trying to say it's the Lucerni he's interested in, but he certainly didn’t want to talk to you or anyone else,” Dorian said. “While I can’t deny the level of personal magnetism I possess, even _I_ find that suspect. Not when he didn’t even want to countenance the possibility of you being in the room while we discussed the Lucerni, Mae.”

“So what do we think he’s going to do?” I asked.

“It seems like a completely counter-productive way to go about murdering someone,” Mae said. “He must know Dor’s likely going to tell people where he’s going.”

“Blood magic?” I suggested, “Some sort of mind control, perhaps?”

“Have to be a fast-acting gem of a spell, especially given I’d be prepared for something like that,” Dorian objected.

“Tie you up, rape you and feed you something so you don’t remember?” Mae threw out. We both stared at her. “Hey, it _does_ happen, you know,” she insisted.

“She actually has a legitimate point,” I said slowly. “People do some pretty horrendous things just to have their way with whoever they’re fixated on. He could have just been using the Lucerni thing because he knew it was a way to get close to you.”

“All the more reason to end this sooner than later,” Dorian said, looking a little shaken, “I certainly don’t want that possibility hanging over my head. I’m going.”

“You’re not going alone,” I insisted.

“Have you developed an invisibility spell that I don’t know about?” he asked sweetly.

“Kai’s right. You can’t take the chance,” Mae said. “We should at least put a tracker on you.”

“He’ll check for that if he’s up to something,” Dorian countered.

“Let him,” I said flatly.

“You realize this is probably going to turn out to be nothing,” he said.

“I hope so,” Mae responded for both of us.

“Hang on a moment,” I said. I went into the bedroom, had another dig through my bags until I found what I was looking for. I stuck one item in my pocket and held onto the other as I returned to the study.

 _You should have it back in case someone else needs it,_ Cam said to me. I handed my carefully-wrapped package to Dorian. “Take this,” I told him.

He opened it and studied the little wooden dragon. “It’s charming, amatus, but…”

“It’s already spelled,” I told him. “It’s keyed to me and I’ve got its other half. If anything happens, break it and I’ll know you need help.”

 _“We’ll_ know,” Mae corrected. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re back.”

“If he doesn’t notice or do anything about the tracker spell we should be able to find you quickly. If he _does_ nullify it, we’ll at least know you’re in trouble and come for you,” I said.

He nodded and smiled at me. “Thank you. It’s a good idea. You’ll have to tell me how you happened to have this lying around.” He looked from me to Mae and said cheerily, “Well. Let’s not keep dear Vel waiting. I’ll let him know I’ll be over this evening as requested.”

Mae had come over to discuss strategy for an upcoming session at the Magisterium, but given the change in plans neither one of them was in the mood. Docilus’ enthusiastic response to Dorian’s acceptance note had come quickly and the wording hadn't made me feel any better about letting Dorian go there: _I pray you've made no further plans for this evening, as our talk may go into the wee hours. I promise to provide a dazzling array of refreshments to fortify and delight._ "The fuck does he need you until the wee hours?" I snarled.

"Now, now, no need to be jealous. He has _ideas_ ," Dorian said, "He wants to discuss them at length. You know what people with ideas can be like."

"I remember. I'd usually give them until they started to annoy me, then shut the meeting down."

"Josephine often despaired of how ill-mannered he could be," Dorian told Mae.

"You're a magister. You're allowed to be just as ill-mannered as I was," I said.

"And I may be depending on what goes on," he reassured me. "I'm just trying to remind us all that he may simply be an irritant rather than a danger."

There was nothing to do but wait until it was time for Dorian to leave, so we spent the afternoon chatting and playing desultory games of cards. Dinner was excellent as usual, but none of us ate much.

“We’re probably all going to laugh about how paranoid we were later tonight,” Dorian said. We’d all been saying variations on that theme for hours.

“Sure we will,” I said. “Right after we bury Docilus at the bottom of an unmarked midden.”

“You never used to be this cynical,” Dorian said.

“It’s all this waiting. It’s making me nervy,” I griped.

“We all are,” Mae said.

“You’re both supposed to be reassuring me that there’s nothing to worry about but a serious case of ennui brought about by Docilus’ endless ideas on how to improve the Lucerni,” Dorian said. “Speaking of which, it’s time.”

Dorian pulled on his coat and we accompanied him to the door, where Mae cast two tracking spells, one on his clothes and one on him. “If he catches one, he might miss the other,” she reasoned. 

“Well, wish me luck,” he said brightly.

I pulled him to me and kissed him fiercely. “Luck,” I said a bit breathlessly. “And for fucks sake, if you even _think_ you might be in trouble, break the bloody dragon.”

“I shall have to walk bravely into the jaws of possible death more often if this is how you’re going to react,” he murmured then said more loudly, “I promise. First sign of foul play, the dragon gets it.”

“See you soon, Dor,” Maevaris said.

He walked out the door. It closed with a very final-sounding _clunk_.


	41. Down the Rabbit Hole

I looked at the little dragon carving sitting serenely on the coffee table in the study and continued pacing. Mae shuffled the deck of cards and began laying out a new game of Solitaire. “You keep that up, you’re going to wear either yourself or the carpet out,” she advised.

“Can’t help it,” I said, “Sitting is not an option at the moment.”

“He’s only been gone just over an hour,” she pointed out.

“I know.”

“It took half that just to get to his place.”

“I know,” I said again. “But you didn’t see Docilus _studying_ him. There’s no way that creepy bastard isn’t up to something.”

“Do you mind if I hope you’re doomed to disappointment on that count?”

“Maybe I should get some coffee,” I mused.

Mae gave a bark of laughter. “Yes, you’re _far_ too relaxed at the moment.”

I perched on the arm of the couch. “I feel like we should be over there. You know, just in case. If nothing happens we can all come home together.”

"Docilus is not going to be happy if we go barging into his meeting," Mae said.

"So we don't. We just find someplace closer to wait so we can get there quickly if something goes badly."

Mae set her cards down. “That, my dear, is an excellent idea. If nothing does happen, we could also rescue him from death by boredom by showing up to tell Docilus he’s needed and we’ve come to collect him.”

“Let’s do it,” I said, standing up to get my coat.

On the coffee table, my little wooden dragon gave a little dragony scream (crossroads me had thought that was a clever touch), an electric flash and broke into pieces.

Mae and I stared at each other for a heartbeat. _“Nonono FUCK_ ,” I swore, “Let’s GO.” I grabbed my coat from the bedroom and we dashed out to the stables.

“You do ride, don’t you?” I asked her.

“Like the wind, honey,” she replied grimly. We let stablehands saddle a pair of horses, as they were undoubtedly faster than the two of us would be, and within minutes were on our way.

We tied the horses up in front of Docilus’ house and climbed the steps to his front door. Everything was quiet. I tried the handle, but of course it was locked. “On three?” Mae said.

I nodded and counted. At three we both hit the door with force spells and blew the fucking thing in. We walked through the wreckage into the front hallway. The fact that no one had come running told us all we needed to know. “Living room’s through the doors to the left,” I told her, striding through it first. Mae cast a bright light as we scanned the room. There wasn’t much to see. They had been there; there were two glasses on the coffee table, both with a bit of liquid still in them. That was all. Not so much as an overturned chair, no scorch marks to follow, no nothing.

“Are you getting anything from the trackers?” I asked, “Because this is bloody useless.”

“Just a moment,” she muttered, concentrating. “We need to go down.”

“Why did I know you were going to say that?” We went back into the hallway where stairs led up to the higher floors and down to the basement. We went down. Docilus’ basement was a warren of storerooms filled with junk, but Mae followed her tracker spell unerringly. It led to a trap door at the far back corner. There had been a carpet over it that Docilus hadn’t managed to replace. Mae grabbed the heavy ring affixed to it and pulled. The trap resisted at first, then swung up and open with a thud. There was a ladder leading down into darkness.

“Is your spell holding up?” I asked.

“So far. You know this could turn out to be more difficult than we thought.”

“Doesn’t it always?” I sighed. What we were facing wasn’t likely to be someone’s clever idea of a dungeon. Minrathous is built on an island in the Nocen Sea. It’s just a short distance from the mainland, but the fact that there’s only one bridge leading to the city makes it very defensible. The island itself is bedrock and over centuries its inhabitants have added to the natural tunnels and caverns beneath the island with maker knows how many more miles of catacombs, tunnels and chambers leading every which way. Naturally Docilus’ basement hid a lovely little passageway straight into that labyrinth.

"You don't have a staff?" Mae noticed belatedly.

"I hardly ever use one anymore. When I lost the arm it became more an impediment than an aid. Why don't you have one?"

“I was coming over for a chat, not battle. Think there’s anything in this mess that might prove to be useful?”

I cast extra light as she executed a quick search of the room. In moments she emerged from a pile of boxes brandishing a wicked-looking hatchet. “Good,” I said, “The one thing we mages tend to forget is that non-magical attacks exist and they’re bloody effective, especially when fighting other mages.”

“You want?”

I shook my head. “Same problem: only one arm. I’m better off not having to hold onto anything. Besides, I have a hunting knife.” I turned so she could see its sheath on the back of my coat.

She didn’t look unhappy as she hefted the hatchet and gave it a few experimental swings. “Nothing wrong with having a few extra weapons; now if only he’d left a map to his underground lair.”

I smiled. “Damned inconsiderate of him. We shall have to have words. Are you ready? We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

“Lead the way,” she said.

I cast another light and climbed down the ladder.

**=#=**

The ladder disembarked in a rough-hewn stone chamber with passages leading to the left and right. It was easy to tell the tunnel’s user was a mage, because there were no non-magical sources of light available. Mae jumped the last few feet to the floor and concentrated on her tracker spell. “That way,” she indicated left, taking the lead now. We kept the lights relatively low; enough to see clearly, but hopefully not so bright that we’d alert anyone too far down the tunnel. The section we were in travelled in a nearly straight line at a downward incline. There were no side tunnels or chambers yet. I tested for illusions covering that sort of thing, but there weren’t any.

After about fifteen minutes of travelling steadily downward we entered another, much larger chamber. There were more passages leading out of it. I counted three that looked like a person could actually pass through them; a few others seemed to be natural fissures in the rock. The air in the chamber was damp and clammy and smelled faintly of the sea. “Are we still under the city?” I wondered aloud.

“No idea,” Mae answered shortly. “Something’s…” She strode towards one of the passageways. I stayed close, keeping watch for anything remotely hostile, though so far everything had been dead and empty.

 _“Venhedis_ ,” Mae cursed. I closed the distance between us in an instant to see she was holding something up. Dorian’s shirt, which she’d put the tracker spell on. I felt the beginnings of panic scramble up my nerve endings like scampering rats and clamped down hard on them. “Is the other still active?” I asked quietly.

"Just a moment." She dismissed the tracker from the shirt so it wouldn't interfere with the one we needed and stood very still, concentrating. “Yes. It’s weak; there’s natural interference down here. But he either hasn't noticed or doesn't care that we put the second one on Dorian.”

“I should have put one on him too,” I said.

“But I do stronger tracking spells,” she said. “Let’s get going before something fucks the second one up.”

“Just concentrate on following it; I’ll take care of everything else,” I told her, refreshing the light. I took the shirt from her and stuffed it into my biggest coat pocket, saying, "He might need it." 

"Good thought." She concentrated again and led us to one of the other passageways. Docilus had thrown the shirt as a red herring. Well, that or he just tossed it aside because he had no use for it. I pushed a panic-rat down again and concentrated on watching for traps or disguised entrances.

This wasn’t my first experience with underground travel, but the maze of passages under Minrathous is nothing like the Deep Roads of the dwarves. I’m sure there are areas that are more accommodating (certainly the dwarves have had a strong presence in Tevinter for centuries), but the section we were in seemed to be mostly natural passageways that had been widened to make it possible to travel through them. As a result, they had a tendency to twist and turn unexpectedly, narrow and widen at random intervals and drop or rise without warning. The temperature had two settings: cold and dryish, and cold and clammy. Even with my coat on, I ended up casting a small heat spell just to stay comfortable. We were running across branching passages regularly now; quite often we had to stop while Mae concentrated, following the faint pulse of the tracking spell. Sometimes the walls were wet, but I tried not to think too hard about the probability that there was nothing above the tunnels we were traversing but the Nocen Sea. The one saving grace was we hadn’t run into another living soul; I’d been a bit concerned it might be like the old days in the Inquisition when it seemed like you couldn’t go two feet without something wanting to attack you. 

After what seemed like a small eternity of trudging — and sometimes scrambling — through rocky passageways, Mae put up a warning hand. “He’s not far,” she said softly. “I’m not sure _how_ far, but I’m finally getting a clear direction.”

“Are you telling me you’ve been guessing this entire time?” 

“ _Educated_ guesses. I tell you, I’m going to have the mother of all headaches by the time we get out of here.”

“If we get Dorian back safely, I will personally bring you healing draughts as you lounge upon the bower of your choice,” I promised.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she warned me. “You haven’t seen a bower until you’ve seen one of mine.”

I cut back the intensity of our light and cast a don’t-notice-me spell while Mae tracked. It was several more minutes before we noticed a change in the air. It was getting steadily warmer and drier, to the point where I dismissed my heat spell. Soon after that the floor smoothed and the walls took on a more uniform appearance. We were approaching yet another branching chamber when Mae stopped, reinforcing my don’t-notice-me spell with one of her own before speaking. “He’s through there,” she said, pointing at a passage to our right that looked no different from the other two in the chamber.

“How the fuck did that elf haul him all the way here?” I grumbled.

“Probably knew a more direct route than the one we used,” Mae said drily. “I have yet to find a tracking spell that knows how to give proper directions. Most likely he used slaves to do the actual hauling.”

“Oh. Of course,” I said. “I keep forgetting about the slave thing. Do we have a plan?”

“Kill everything that isn’t Dorian?”

“Works for me.” 

We crept into the final tunnel.

It was lit by a series of still-burning torches and ran arrow-straight for a good thirty paces before making a sharp left. I dismissed my light and reinforced the don’t-notice-me spell before the turn, then we cautiously rounded the corner. There was a short hallway that ended in a heavy wooden door reinforced with metal banding. In front of it was a burly human slave. I examined the door magically and saw the real defenses: a complex web of permanent wards that looked designed to block magical intrusions and attacks. We retreated back around the corner.

“You saw the door?” I asked Mae.

“Yes,” she said grimly, “Designed to be a bitch to get through. What do you want to bet Docilus has the only key?”

“I’d be surprised if he doesn’t. Figure the slave’s just window dressing?”

“Didn't see any magical protections on him. He’s probably the one who was hauling Dorian.”

“So assuming he’s not worth worrying about, how do we get in there? It’d take you forever to chop through that thing with the hatchet, and from the looks of it magic’s not an option,” I said, trying to keep the panic rats firmly under control.

“Fear not,” Mae smiled tightly, “you’re not the only one who’s cultivated some non-magical skills over the years. He’s put so much work into those wards, I’m betting it never occurred to him that someone might pick the lock.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m brilliant at it if I do say so myself,” she replied. “It’s a little something my husband taught me.”

“I think I love you.” 

“Save that for when we get the door open. We can break the news to Dorian after.”

“Let’s get the muscle out of the way then.”

Mae nodded agreement. We conferred briefly then stepped back into the short hallway. Before he’d done anything more than notice we were there, I hit him with a freeze spell and Mae put him to sleep with a knockout spell. We dragged the poor sap around the corner to sleep it off. If things went our way, he’d awaken to find himself without a master. I searched him quickly. “No key, of course. You have lock-picking tools?”

“Always, darling,” she said. We approached the door, checking to see if the wards were going to do anything unpleasant if we touched the thing. “Looks like they’re all geared to someone magically forcing their way in,” she said critically. “He’s not as clever as he likes to think.”

“Personally I’m just as pleased that he _is_ an arrogant twat at the moment,” I replied, adding, “There might be more guards when we go in.”

“You worried we can’t handle them?” she asked, crouching down to work on the door.

“No, I’m just worried they might waste valuable time. You want to go in quiet or loud?”

“I’d prefer quiet. If we can make it in before anyone notices, so much the better. _Venhedis,_ almost had it.”

“Take your time. Well, while hurrying as much as you possibly can. I'd prefer the subtle approach too,” I said, refreshing the don’t-notice-me spell again. Mae made a quiet noise of triumph and the lock _snicked_ open. We tried the door cautiously. I’d been expecting some sort of hellish squeal of hinges just because it would figure, but they were well-oiled and it swung open silently.


	42. Hypogeum

We entered yet another short passage. I took the lead this time, moving forward cautiously. Just a few paces in was a trap: it had a perfectly mundane trip wire in front hiding a magical trap just beyond, the theory being the intruder would see the wire, step over it and trigger the magical one. I used my fade step spell to ghost past both of them and Mae followed closely behind with her Tevinter version. The passageway curved to the left. Now we could see torchlight flickering faintly off the walls. It was all eerily quiet, which I found more unsettling than I cared to admit.

The passageway let out on a largish chamber, unevenly lit by too few torches around the perimeter. We stopped a moment at the entrance, waiting for our eyes to adjust and to sort out what we were looking at.

We needn’t have worried about extra guards. There _were_ a couple more slaves in the room, but they were both very dead, their throats ripped out. In the centre of the room was an incongruously normal-looking ironwood table that probably started its life in someone’s dining room, but that was where normal ended. As I have to admit I’d been half expecting, Dorian was chained to it, secured at the ankles and wrists. Somewhere along the line the rest of his clothing had been removed. Docilus was standing at one side of the table, also sans clothing, but he wasn’t reading foul words from some ancient tome or sharpening his stone dagger. Rather, he was _flopped over_ Dorian from waist to chest like a marionette whose strings had been cut. His arms were flung over his head like he'd just executed a dive. Those tattoos of his — which did indeed cover every inch of his body — seemed to be swimming and twining around themselves just under his skin, which looked weirdly loose. 

Next to me, Mae murmured, “What the _fuck_ …”

On the table, Dorian suddenly lurched in the chains and cried out in pain. That galvanized us into action. As Mae cast a bright light over the scene I charged the table shouting Dorian’s name. I’d been afraid Docilus would cast a barrier before I could get to him, but apparently whatever he was doing took precedence because he didn’t twitch.

A bit hampered in my choices by the need to not harm Dorian, I threw a heavy force spell at Docilus, thinking to knock him away from the table. Instead, I saw his skin literally ripple as it absorbed the kinetic energy. I reached the elf and he lifted his head laboriously, turning it towards me.

What was looking at me was no longer Vel Docilus. Its face was a shifting horror of weirdly grainy, mottled skin swimming viscously across bone as individual features formed and dissolved in and out of each other, some of them worse for being oddly familiar. For a moment I froze, watching as its mouth opened to show a shifting maw that contained human teeth intersecting with and becoming needle-sharp fangs that then sunk into toothless gums. I realized what had so unsettled me on top of everything else was that some of the features swimming across the creature’s face were Dorian’s.

“Amatus, I’d very much appreciate it if you’d get this fucking thing _off_ me,” Dorian said, his voice tight with pain.

Behind me, Mae cast an ice spell at the thing and I watched it absorb that energy just as easily as my force spell. The tattoos flickered and seemed to pulse slightly; otherwise it was unphased. Its mouth was somehow still opening, the jaw dropping lower and lower. It seemed like it was building up to something so I did the one thing I really wanted to do anyway: I wound up and punched it in the face with every bit of force I could put behind it.

I hit hard and dead centre, but instead of knocking Docilus away, my fist sunk into spongy bone and kept going straight through and out the back of its skull. I yanked my arm back in surprised revulsion, splattering bits of bone and brain about in the process. I slammed my arm into what remained of the head and sheared the top half off completely. Some bits fell onto the floor. I heard Dorian shout and spit as some of it hit him in the face. 

It didn’t seem to make any difference to whatever process was going on. Docilus' body was still draped over Dorian. I looked down at it, thinking to push it off, and saw that Docilus' skin was steadily flowing off his body and onto Dorian's. The tattoos were moving like living things, glowing blue and green and arterial red as they were carried along with the skin. I could see the elf's spine and back muscles as nearly all the skin there had already slid off. The muscles looked slack and grayish and I realized when I'd punched through the head there had been no blood; probably why the red of the tattoos looked especially bright. More skin was crawling down his hands and arms, giving the arms a lumpish, saggy look. His hands were already little but thin cords of muscle over bone wherever lumpy rivulets of tattooed skin weren't running.

The elf's hips were pressed against the table, tattooed skin climbing up them in a slow, steady flow, puddling on the tabletop as it pushed towards Dorian. Mae cast a careful bolt of fire that struck Docilus' right thigh. Once again the skin rippled slightly, tattoos twining playfully around and through each other as it absorbed the energy. Dorian gasped and cried out, "Kai, _please_."

"Mae, magic doesn't work. Help me get this bloody thing off him!" I shouted. She joined me and together we seized Docilus' shoulders and pulled him back from the table. With a wet, sucking noise his torso pulled away from its skin, rearing backwards until the spongified spine snapped just below the ribcage. We yanked hard on it again and porous muscle tore. I let go of it just a second before Mae followed suit and the upper torso flew partway across the room, spilling weirdly misshapen organs as it went. I swiped at the bits still on the table with my coat sleeve, knocking them onto the floor.

Dorian let out a shout of pain and fought against the chains securing him to the table as ribbons of skin from the torso slapped onto him. I tried to pull a flap of the stuff off, but it stuck fast, flowing to connect with the main mass. I swore loudly.

Mae tapped me on the shoulder. "Look," she pointed. From roughly the waist down the thing that had been Vel Docilus was still standing with its hips against the table. Instead of the blood one would expect from a bisected torso, there were just weirdly glowing, slimy patches and tendrils of tattooed skin continuing their relentless slide onto the table and Dorian. I looked down to see Docilus’ legs were becoming a patchwork of stringy muscle and bone marbled with clumps of yellowy fat as more skin oozed up off them, climbing towards the tabletop. 

Mae started chopping at the thing with the hatchet, sloughing off chunks of the former mage and skin-covered bits of tabletop with abandon. On the table, that tattooed skin had draped itself over more of Dorian, now covering him from hips to collarbones. I ripped at a piece that was still working its way along the table and felt it resist. I dug in harder, yanking it off and away from the rest of the skin. The stuff twisted in my hand, adhering to my own skin for a moment before dropping off. Where it had stuck, it burned. And Dorian was covered in it.

“ _Venhedis._ Nothing's working!” Mae growled. “If we don’t get this thing off him soon…it just absorbs spells and it doesn’t seem to care that we’ve removed most of its body.” She hacked the tabletop at an angle, shearing off a chunk with its cargo of colorful skin. It hit the floor and the skin immediately began flowing towards the table and the rest of itself. 

"I'd say it's done with that body," I said absently. All the bits of Docilus that weren’t tattooed lay where they had fallen; the place was beginning to look and smell like an abattoir. The bits that _were_ tattooed were inching and lurching toward each other, combining when they touched. They were trying to make their way up to join the main mass. I threw a bolt of fire at one clump; it simply absorbed the energy and kept on its mindless path. I considered trying my hunting knife, but if Mae’s hatchet was having no effect… Feeling useless and trying hard not to panic, I turned my attention back to Dorian.

“Have I mentioned that this is incredibly painful?” he gasped. “What is it and could you please make it stop?”

“It’s his fucking tattoos. Or _he’s_ his fucking tattoos; I think they’re trying to eat you and believe me, love, we’re _trying_ to make it stop,” I said, trying to sound calm for him. “Just try to hang on.”

“There doesn’t seem to be much else I _can_ do at the moment,” he said tightly.

Upon the table, the tattooed skin oozed towards Dorian’s throat, a slithering riot of colours glistening in the torch- and mage lights like oil. _Filthy fucking bastard_ I thought furiously, looking around the chamber for anything that might be able to remove the creature without taking bits of Dorian with it. One word abruptly lodged itself in my mind like a bright child begging for attention. Filthy. All the spells we’d tried so far had been combat spells, designed for attack, and the thing had shrugged them off like they were nothing. _Filthy._ “I’m going to try something,” I said. _(filthy)_ Mae backed off, watching anxiously.

I wasn’t sure how powerful to make it, so I cast a slightly stronger than usual version of my familiar little spell and hoped.

It hit the creature over much of the area that was covering Dorian, and where it hit the glistening colors dimmed as the thing pulled in on itself. In other words, it _flinched_. I threw another, much more powerful version at it and this time it turned nearly black. Even though it no longer had a mouth that I was aware of, we all heard it scream; a weird, grating sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “Use the fucking clean-up spell on it,” I shouted triumphantly to Mae, “ _Desiccate_ the wanker!”

She needed no further instruction, casting her own spell immediately. The thing screamed again, pulling further in on itself and away from Dorian as it did. After that we went at it with a will, sucking away every bit of moisture the creature possessed. It screamed and writhed and retreated, compacting itself as it attempted to escape our attacks. As it weakened, the straggling bits that hadn’t managed to join the main mass began to shrivel and die. The creature - which now resembled a multicoloured, faintly glowing slug the size of large cat - dropped off the table and attempted to flee through cracks in the floor or walls where we couldn’t follow, but it hadn’t counted on one thing: the chamber we were in was too well-constructed, and even in its reduced state it couldn’t find a crack big enough to accommodate it. We kept at it until the thing was nothing but a blackened husk that I ground into powder beneath my boot.

We rushed over to Dorian. Everywhere the creature had touched him his skin looked burnt, little beads of blood seeping out like sweat, but at least he was alive and conscious. Mae was already casting a healing spell on him as I reached the table. “Took you long enough,” he said weakly.

“Well, you know what traffic can be like,” I joked and added, “We got here as quickly as we could. It’s a damn good thing you managed to break the dragon. Where are the keys to these bloody chains?”

“Apparently there aren’t any,” Dorian said. 

"Magic words, then," Mae said.

“Also none. He informed me that they would spring open like little flowers greeting the day once the transfer was complete.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I cast my own healing spell on him. It wasn’t anything to write home about, but I knew it would help.

“He was trying to impress upon me the futility of struggling.”

“It appears he was telling the truth,” Mae reported, “There’s nowhere to even put a key in any of these.”

“Can we burn them off?” I suggested.

“Amatus. I’ve had quite enough burning for one day,” Dorian groaned.

“Anything we do to the metal will affect Dor where it’s touching him. Looks like it’ll have to be the hatchet for now,” Mae said. “We can remove them properly once we get him home.”

"Just be careful what you're chopping," Dorian said.

I found a water pump and brought Dorian some water while Mae went to work hacking the chains away from the table, telling her to let me know if she needed me to spell her. I used more water and a clean cloth to wipe the beaded blood and detritus from the battle — if you could call it that — off his skin. “Try not to drip any of that on Docilus,” Dorian said.

“I think he’s beyond restoration,” I assured him. Indeed, as we’d pulled all moisture from the creature, the air in the chamber had become increasingly humid. We’d all become mostly inured to the smell, but every once in a while a small current of fresh air would find its way in and bring with it a reminder of how rank it really was in there. I tried not to dwell too deeply on the thought that we were literally breathing in particles of the creature that had been Vel Docilus.

I gave Dorian a stern look. “Please do not do anything like this again. If you’d gotten yourself killed I would have been very cross with you.”

“I promise I’ll make it up to you, though probably not tonight,” he said with a tired smile. I cast a clean-up spell on my coat and on myself, removing the worst of the corpse-ick, then washed the rest of it off at the water pump, taking a long drink at the same time. After a quick search for Dorian's clothes that turned up nothing, I took the hatchet from Mae and set to work on the chains while she took her turn cleaning up.

It took the better part of an hour with the two of us trading off and largely destroyed the hatchet blade, but we managed to cut Dorian free of the table. With a soft groan, he sat up gingerly. His skin still looked raw and burnt despite the healing spells, but he declared himself a hundred percent better than when we’d arrived.

“Where are your clothes?” I asked him.

“I haven’t the slightest.” He frowned. “There is a large portion of _blank_ between when he took me out and when I woke up here.”

“How did he manage that when you were ready for him?” Mae asked.

“Because we had no idea he wasn’t an elf,” Dorian said. “I checked the drink he served me and it was clean, so I sat there listening to him talking at me, _waiting_ for something underhanded. I did not expect to see his jaw drop halfway to his chest as he _spit_ something at me. I had just enough time to realize I was in trouble and break the dragon. The next thing I knew, here I was, chained naked to a table like a virgin sacrifice in a bad adventure tale. At least the dragon worked as intended.”

“For which I shall be eternally grateful,” I said. “Now, as much as I personally enjoy the view, we can’t have you walking around like that.” I handed him his shirt. “Here. It's the only piece we found."

He stood up a bit shakily and tied the shirt around his waist, wincing. "Ever had a really dreadful sunburn? That's what this feels like, with overtones of something more unpleasant that I can't quite put into words."

I shrugged out of my coat and handed it to him. "You'd better put this on too. It's rather cold out there.” 

“You’re letting me wear The Coat? You don’t let anyone wear The Coat.”

“These are extenuating circumstances and you are the _only_ person who is allowed even temporary wearing privileges,” I said. 

Dorian pulled on my coat and belted it closed. He settled it more comfortably on himself and moved about experimentally. “Oh. This is nice. No wonder you like this thing. I can _feel_ all the work you’ve put into it.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” I warned him.

“I need a mirror,” he said, “I’m sure I look dashing. Mae, darling, can’t you conjure me one?”

“Sorry, we’ll have to go looking for one,” Mae said, “Unless you’d prefer to stay a while longer?”

“I can honestly say I’ve had quite enough of this place,” Dorian said flatly, then grinned. “Let’s go show everyone how fabulous I look in Kai’s coat.”

Mae and I stationed ourselves on either side of Dorian in case he needed help and we left (fortunately the magical trap we’d all forgotten about had died with Docilus, though we did blunder straight into the tripwire).

With no tracking spell to follow and Dorian having no memory of how he got there, we were left guessing the best way out. Rather than attempting to retrace our route to Docilus’s basement, we chose to stick to the best-constructed passageways, picking those that led upward when we had to choose. Though he protested he was fine, Dorian needed to stop and rest at regular intervals and it was clear that he was still in pain. I knew how he felt.

It seemed another small eternity but was probably no more than an hour or two before we found an exit. We emerged from the labyrinth not at Docilus’s basement ladder, but at a stone staircase that led up to a heavy, metal-reinforced door that was barred on our side. We opened it and exited into a half-ruined building. Moonlight shone through a gaping hole in the roof. We walked down a length of hallway to a door that was in suspiciously good condition given the state of the rest of the place. Outside we found ourselves in what looked like the ruins of an old estate; the tunnel entrance was in what appeared to be a guest house, with the dilapidated main house a short distance away.

“Do either of you have any idea where we are?” I asked, “Because I don’t recognize a blessed thing.”

“I _think_ we’re on the mainland,” Dorian said slowly. “There’s nowhere in Minrathous they’d allow an area of this size to remain empty. Mae?”

Maevaris nodded. “There are a few abandoned estates within an hour’s ride of the bridge — this has to be one of them. Not quite as abandoned as they’ve led people to believe, it seems.”

I focused on the important part. “An hour’s _ride_? Just how bloody far are we going to have to walk?”

**=#=**

The answer turned out to be not as far as I'd feared. We stuck to an overgrown path we found and within perhaps half an hour made it to a road that looked fairly well-traveled. Dorian immediately sat down on the retaining wall running alongside the road and announced that the elves could take their running barefoot through the wilderness fetish and stick it straight up their vallaslin. We were all feeling pretty well done in by that point and not looking forward to any more hiking, even if it was just to look for transportation back to the city, so the patrol we saw approaching felt like a small miracle. We stood once they were close enough to see us and Mae went into a Debauched Magistrate act that should have won awards. We backed her up enthusiastically and within minutes the patrol had gotten a coach out to transport us home. Sometimes power definitely has its perks.

When we reached Dorian's I assured Mae I could take it from there and she continued home to get some sleep. He was all but out on his feet by then, so I got him to drink some water and a healing potion, retrieved my coat and got him to bed. He was out within seconds; we'd just have to worry about removing the shackles the next day. Truthfully, I wasn't far behind him for exhaustion. I took an extra few minutes to clean up and fell into bed too. 


	43. Dissection

"Do be careful: I just want the shackle off, not my entire wrist," Dorian admonished the servant working with the metal file. He was grandly ensconced on a day bed in the sunny parlour, sipping tea while the man sawed away at the shackles.

I set my coffee down and took a chair near him. "Everything to your satisfaction, Messere?" 

"Once these unsightly accoutrements have been done away with, yes." He seemed to be enjoying his semi-invalid status. "My one regret is I never got to see myself in The Coat last night."

"You may be able to persuade me to allow you a few more moments with it for mirror-gazing purposes only," I said. "We got a message from Mae. She'll be over within the hour, then you can tell us what bloody happened if you feel up to it."

"I do. Just think — I finally have a story to rival the ones you keep trotting in here with." The file bit through the shackle on his right wrist (the left was already done). The servant set the file down and carefully bent the weakened metal back far enough that Dorian could slip his wrist out. "Ow ow ow…oh, that's better. Thank you," he said to the servant, who gave a nod of acknowledgement and slid down to the end of the day bed to go to work on Dorian's right ankle. Even after the healing potions and spells of the night before, his wrist looked scraped and raw. He cast his own healing spell on it and after waiting a few moments for it to kick in, massaged the wrist carefully. "You know, I'm sore in places I didn't even know were _places_ ," he said.

I laughed humorlessly. "You know I know what you mean. Is there anything else you need?"

"I believe I've run you ragged enough for one morning- well, afternoon." (We’d slept well past midday.) He smiled at me. "Before Mae gets here, I just wanted to thank you. You've made all this far more bearable than it had any right to be. If Docilus had managed to go about his plan as originally intended…" he shuddered slightly, "I might not even be here to joke about it."

"Let's wait until Mae gets here to talk about him," I suggested. "I'm just glad I was here to help."

"As am I. Now why don't you come over here? I'm far too delicate at the moment to be expected to trudge all the way over to where you're sitting." 

“I’ve got my boots on,” I pointed out.

“So?”

“I’ve always been told not to put boots on furniture.”

“It’s my furniture. You may put your boots on it with impunity. It’s quite unfair, you playing coy when I’m in this condition.” I joined him on the day bed and that was how Mae found us when she arrived some time later.

"Well don't you both look the picture of domesticity," she said as she sailed into the room.

"I wouldn't know, having never seen a picture of it," I said.

"She simply means we're adorable, which we undoubtedly are," Dorian said lazily.

She raised an eyebrow. "Should I come back later when you're done being adorable?"

"It would be cruel to make you wait that long," said Dorian, ever solicitous.

"I suppose we should at least sit up properly," I mused.

"I could point out that presently my comfort is tantamount to any consideration of manners, but you're probably right," Dorian sighed as Mae rolled her eyes at both of us. 

"I'll see if I can find us some refreshments while you sort yourselves out." She went off in the direction of the kitchen; I hoped she heard my shout of _ask them to bring more coffee_.

By the time she returned, we had sorted. Dorian held court on the daybed, I had parked my chair next to it and the coffee table, and Mae arranged her own chair on the other side of the table. The kitchen staff delivered both food and drink. It was all the antithesis of that dimly lit chamber we'd been in the night before.

Dorian gave us a lopsided smile. “I suspect you have questions.”

I made like I was going to throw my coffee cup at him and he pretended to flinch. That was, of course, what Solas had said to me before he revealed his mad plan to destroy the world and took my arm. Mae looked at the two of us and clearly decided not to bother asking. “Just one,” she said, “What _was_ that thing?”

"I haven't the slightest idea," Dorian said, "I've never heard of such a creature."

“Aside from that, how much did he — it — tell you?” I asked.

“Quite a bit, as it happens,” he said. “I believe I told you last night how he took me out in the first place? Things got a little fuzzy at the end.” We assured him he had. “Good. Well. Whatever he spit at me smelled like warmed-over death with a side helping of despair and it knocked me out cold. It was just a good thing I’d broken your little dragon when he did that thing with his lower jaw. The next thing I remember I was as you found me, trussed up like a festive little Satinalia present for a bondage enthusiast.”

“He had slaves carry you there,” I told him. “We knocked the biggest one out and left him in a hallway.”

“Oh shit,” Mae said, “The horses.”

“Horses?” Dorian echoed.

“Oh. Shite,” I repeated. “Oops? We took horses to get to Docilus’ house. They’re probably still tied up there if someone didn’t take them. I forgot about them.”

“We both forgot,” Mae said, “Although we had a remarkably good excuse.”

“I forgive you both,” Dorian said as he rang for a servant. He gave instructions to send someone for the horses (or attempt to find them if necessary) and settled back to continue with his story.

“He was already preparing for what he called ‘the Transfer’ when I came to my senses. I figured my best recourse was to get him talking, since he’d already proven he couldn’t get enough of talking about himself. Not to mention I did have a vested interest in finding out what he intended to do with me. I hardly need to tell you, by this point it was clear that whatever Vel Docilus was, he was no elf.”

“Was there ever a real Vel Docilus?” I asked.

“Oh, yes — some of this I found out beforehand, some he was happy to confide to me. _He_ was an elf; a Laetan mage of middling power with a nice, human wife and two nice, human children. He ran a mildly successful business primarily dealing in exotic and hard-to-find goods. He and his wife, who is also Laetan, were doing well enough that they were able to afford a place in one of the nicer areas of Minrathous, which was quite a boon to his business. In the course of this business he travelled extensively, going to all manner of exotic locations in search of the unique and unusual. He loved his work and the challenge of finding things that would interest his clients. After one of these trips he came back covered from neck to ankle in the most gorgeous and intricate tattoos you’ve ever seen.”

“And Vel Docilus was gone,” I said.

“Sadly, yes,” Dorian confirmed. “You see, he’d met a fellow after his own heart, with a love for the rare and exotic. They hit it off quickly, especially once his new friend found out that Vel lived in Minrathous itself. For a few days they were inseparable, though to some it seemed as though Vel’s new friend wasn’t just being friendly, but was in fact _studying_ him. The friend — who had the most exquisite tattoos — suggested Vel come out to his place, which was located in an area somewhat remote from the village where they met, so he could show Vel his collection, perhaps with an eye to selling some of it. I’m sure you can imagine what happened next.”

“Vel returned to Minrathous with a new set of tattoos and the mysterious friend was never seen again,” Mae said.

“Darling, you should start a sideline solving crimes,” Dorian said.

“So it was going to steal you next,” I said darkly. “Why you? And did it give you any hint what it was?”

“Second question first: Not a word. I suspect it was very old. Old enough that it wasn’t as cautious as it used to be. It had been stealing lives for so long that it felt untouchable, I think. It had become arrogant, if it hadn’t been all along. It wasn’t acting the same as it had when we met at the Circle. It rambled a lot when it talked, and it did enjoy talking.”

“No, he -it- didn't ramble earlier,” I said. “He liked talking about himself, but he just seemed pleasant and rather witty in a creepy sort of way. To change that markedly in such a short period of time…”

“Sounds like it was getting senile,” Mae said.

“Exactly what I thought. It sounded quite a bit like some of our more ancient and addled magisters. Perhaps it had used up the last of Vel Docilus by the time you made it up here. We know nothing about what sort of lifespan it had from body to body,” Dorian theorized.

“So I repeat, why _you_?” I insisted.

“To move up in the world?” Mae ventured.

“Give the lady a prize,” Dorian said. “You see, he’d grown Docilus’ business from being mildly successful to very successful, but as an elf there was simply no further he could go. Then he heard about me. Not only did I have a checkered past that could well explain any slip-ups he might make, but I was trying something new and different that whatever remnants of Docilus were still in him would have enthusiastically supported. I'm also much more powerful magically than poor Vel ever was. I was young, strong, clever, powerful, _and_ extraordinarily good-looking.”

“Don’t forget humble,” I said drily.

“It’s not bragging when it’s true,” he said, blinking innocently. I flicked one of the nuts I was eating at him. It hit him in the chin and landed on his shirt; he made a face at me and popped it in his mouth, following that up by grabbing a small handful of them for himself. “In any case, he’d already set his sights on me not long after I returned from the south. It was sheer good luck that he ran into Kai at the crossroads. Otherwise we may not have known about him until he was fully prepared.”

“He looked pretty prepared to me,” Mae said.

“He told me he’d pushed his entire plan forward considerably when he met Kai because he saw Kai as his easiest way in. He knew he had a limited amount of time before Kai wouldn’t introduce us, so he rushed things.”

“And in doing so came across a hell of a lot more eager and creepy than he’d intended,” I said. “From what we saw, it could also be that he was starting to fall apart more quickly than he’d expected. It’s not like he’d necessarily tell you that.”

"And if he hadn't run into Kai? He still would have needed to get to you somehow," Mae said.

"He didn't say. I assume he had plans, but I didn't ask."

“What was he going to do about Kai?” Mae asked. “You can’t tell me he’d expect Kai to not realize something was different about you, particularly when you came home with Vel Docilus’ tattoos.”

“He was going to kill both of you,” Dorian said. “Kai for obvious reasons, and you because he didn’t want to share power over the Lucerni and he wasn’t sure how close we are.”

“Why did he kill the slaves? Blood magic?”

Dorian nodded. "He used it to get the Transfer going more quickly. Very creepy. His hand grew claws. He did the slaves one at a time. Ripped their throats out and the tattoos - it?- absorbed the blood and got all glowy. I don’t know if you noticed there wasn’t a drop on the floor.”

“Claws? I also saw some pretty nasty-looking teeth in its face. Good thing it was too soggy by the time we got there to use any of those,” I said.

Dorian frowned. “Amatus, it did not feel soggy.”

“Tattoos aside, I take it when it did this Transfer it _didn’t_ absorb everything from its victim and become a perfect copy of them?” Mae wondered out loud.

“I don’t think so,” Dorian said. “It sounded like he- _it_ got all the magical power but only part of the personality it was absorbing. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been so concerned about slip-ups."

"If it could become a perfect copy, it wouldn't need to study them beforehand," I said.

Dorian nodded. "I gather the process of the transfer destroyed quite a lot of the person it was taking. I can tell you that even the beginnings of it were…incredibly painful.”

“Well, at least we got to kill it in an equally painful manner,” I said.

“There is that,” Dorian said cheerfully. “It thought it was immune to magical attacks, you know. However did you come up with that?”

“It _was_ immune to combat spells, or certainly seemed to be,” I said and Mae nodded agreement, “It was killing you and it pissed me off that I couldn’t find anything to stop it. I was calling it names and…I don’t know — I had one of those intuitive leaps you get sometimes. Fortunately, it worked.”

“Note to self: in case of imminent and inescapable death, piss Kai off,” Dorian said and grinned.

“What about the wife?” I asked, “Is she still alive?”

“As far as I know, he sent her and Docilus’ children away to visit relatives. They’d simply come back and find him gone.”

“Well, that much of his plan worked,” I said.

“I wonder if there are any more of them,” Mae mused.

“If there are, we know how to kill them now.” Dorian stretched out on the day bed with a groan. “Can we officially call this subject closed?”

We could and we did.


	44. One More Nightmare

I’m not going to go into a great deal of detail about the next few days, but I think it’s worth mentioning. You see, later that night, long after Mae had gone home and we were in the study not doing much of anything, it finally started to sink in for Dorian, just what had been done to him and what had come frighteningly close to happening. 

I didn’t really notice at first, since I was reading a book and we were both drinking, but he was drinking quite a bit more than usual. I heard him say, “Kai,” and looked up. He was sitting in his favourite chair, a half-finished drink next to him. He looked at me with haunted eyes and said shakily, “That- that _thing_ was going to _devour_ me.”

I set my book down and said, “I know. Do you feel like talking about it?”

“I…don’t know. Honestly, I don’t even want to _think_ about it, but…”

“But you can’t _not_ think about it now that’s it’s sinking in,” I finished. He nodded. I smiled wryly. “I know the feeling very well.”

He managed a slight smile in return. “You do, don’t you.”

Dorian had already been through this sort of thing with me, just with our roles reversed. “Tell me,” I said gently.

“I- never mind what happened in that room, I just- I was _ready_ for something to happen. We’d discussed it. You gave me the little dragon. We _knew_. _I_ knew. How the _fuck_ could I have let him take me that easily?” He downed the rest of his drink and got up to make another. I didn’t try to stop him, not this soon. I also remembered very well how badly I’d wanted to drink at first, and to hell with what anyone says, it did help a bit.

“Like you said, Dorian, the one thing none of us knew or even imagined was that he wasn’t an elf. You can hardly blame yourself for being caught flatfooted by that.” I took a sip of my beer.

He mixed his drink and walked back to his chair, moving carefully; he’d told me earlier he was still in some pain even after the healing spells and potions. “I know we hadn’t anticipated that, but I just sat there staring at him like some gormless fool,” he said bitterly.

“You had the presence of mind to break the dragon,” I pointed out.

“I shouldn’t have _needed_ it,” he snapped. “I shouldn’t have needed you and Mae to come rescue me. It should never have gone that far.”

“What do you imagine you could have done?” 

“I don’t know. There were probably a hundred things I could have done. I’m a scion of House Pavus. I’m a bloody _magister_ , damn it!”

“And both Mae and I fired what should have been guaranteed kill shots point blank at that thing. You know what it did? It rippled a little, absorbed the energy and kept right on going. Mae’s a magister too and you know very well what I’m capable of, so how could you have done any more?”

He drank some of his drink. “He still looked like an elf in his living room. A spell might have worked if I’d had the presence of mind to hit him with one quickly enough.”

I cocked my head curiously, “You really believe that knowing what you know about the creature?”

“…No,” he admitted. “But I could have -I don't know- punched him in the face when he- _it_ did its jaw-dropping act.”

“And I’m very glad you didn’t,” I said. “You said it grew claws when it wanted to kill its slaves? Well, it looked at me when its face was shifting forms — ghastly, be glad you didn’t see it — and some of the teeth that thing had in its mouth…it probably would have bitten your fucking hand off and I’d really rather you not have to experience that particular trauma. Even if it didn't, there's a very good chance all you would have done was piss it off.”

"But _you_ punched it in the head."

"I also didn't stop to consider the possible consequences of what I was doing, I just wanted to get it off you. I was lucky it was already in the middle of its 'transfer' by then, so it was all spongy."

“But he took me so easily…” he trailed off and drank more. 

“I know. It’s a shite feeling,” I said. “I don’t know anything to say to make it better.”

He gave me a pained smile. “Thank you. I suspect most people would have told me otherwise.”

I nodded and said, “Most. Not the ones who’ve had it happen. It’s bloody terrifying to realize no matter what you do, given the right circumstances some bastard can come along and fucking _violate_ you and there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s no way to candy coat that, so don’t listen when people try. They’re usually trying to mitigate it to convince themselves it couldn’t happen to them.”

“Did I do that to you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “A little. Not too much. It’s okay; how could you possibly have understood? I’m just sorry you do now.”

He looked pensively at the floor. “So am I. I shouldn’t have gone there alone. I was so certain I could handle anything he might throw at me.”

I gave a small bark of laughter. “I suspect when you get to our level of ability most of us are guilty of that. Then inevitably something comes along that we _don’t_ know how to handle.”

“It’s easy enough for you to laugh,” he said crossly, “You’re the one who figured out how to kill the thing. All _I_ could do was lie there waiting for it to devour me.”

I took another drink and said mildly, “Ah, unlike my phenomenal string of previous successes when I figured out how to defeat that fade demon _before_ it carved me up and punched through my ribcage, and then figured out how to stop Solas, remove the Anchor and save my forearm from requiring amputation. Clearly you’re simply lacking initiative.”

He looked at me narrowly. “You’re determined not to let me beat myself up about this, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” I said. “As I recall, you did me a similar favour.”

“Were you as annoyed with me as I am with you at the moment?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And you’d shut up and leave me alone if I wanted you to?”

“Of course I would.”

He sighed. “I don’t want you to. But…”

“But?”

“This is going to sound irrational.” He frowned.

“You’re allowed to be irrational for a few days,” I said, “It’s one of the perks of nearly being killed in some unspeakably horrible fashion. What is it?”

“It’s…your hair.”

I hadn’t expected that. “My hair?” 

“You don’t look like you. After what happened with Docilus I’m finding that…unsettling. More than unsettling.”

“I understand,” I said. “I’ve no reason to keep it anyway — Kaeso Asina should know I’m looking for him by now. Be back soon.” 

Once I’d shaved, I returned to the study. Dorian was still sitting there, though with a fresh drink in front of him. He looked lost and tired. I knew the feeling well. “Better?” I said.

He looked up and smiled. “Much. Care to keep me company now? I’m not up to anything else tonight…but you probably know that too.”

“You know I do. Company’s fine.”

The next few days were much the same as Dorian came to grips with what had happened. I talked with him when he needed to, and fucked off and left him alone when he needed that (that’s the part people seem to have the most trouble with, when you just bloody don’t want to talk to anyone). I didn’t get on him about the drinking, but tried to keep him from getting stupid drunk (something I’d made the mistake of doing in the past) and generally just tried to be there for him. It was no more than he’d done for me. 

It helped that deep down he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong and the thing that had worn Docilus’s body was dead. It also helped that he holds himself in very high esteem. By the third day he declared himself ready to rejoin the outside world, so we went out to the theatre and his favourite restaurant and everything went beautifully. He was having nightmares regularly, and probably would for some time — maker, I still have nightmares about the fade demon that nearly killed me five years ago, especially when I get too stressed — but they were nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d never forget what happened, but it would never cripple him either.

I was glad that I hadn’t heard from Asina during the entire ordeal, but that needed to change. Like it or not, I still had a job to do.


	45. A Cordial Response

Another day and a half went by with nothing much happening (well, nothing worth recounting anyway). I couldn’t go down to pester Quintus because we’d agreed to wait a full week for a response before contacting one another. I'd convinced Dorian to take it easy a few extra days, so we passed time going places and doing the mundane sorts of things couples do together.

The afternoon things picked up again, we were in the room where Dorian kept his eluvian, poring over diagrams for the millionth time. We were convinced we had the things set up correctly, but having to piggyback them on the outside of the elven network was a dicey prospect.

“We don’t _know_ that Solas would notice right away,” Dorian said again.

“Yes we do,” I said glumly. “No way the bastard wouldn’t. He’s the next closest thing to a god, after all. And we couldn’t possibly be that lucky. They _have_ to stay on the outside.”

“I stuck my hand through a few weeks ago,” he said.

“And?”

“It didn’t feel like much of anything. A bit chilly, perhaps.”

“Wonderful. We have established that it’s a bit chilly and looks mostly gray. _Something_ needs to actually go through and see what it’s like over there.”

“What about your nug?”

“Fuck that,” I yelped, staring at him in shock. “You can’t possibly think I’d do that.”

“Sorry,” he said contritely, “I was just throwing out ideas. This is impossibly frustrating.”

“I know,” I sighed, "But honestly, what good would that even do? It's not like he could tell us anything about it. Not to mention, I love him dearly, but he _is_ just a nug. It's entirely possible he'd be just fine on the other side but we'd never know because he wandered off rather than come back through either eluvian."

"This is where if I were an old-school magister, I'd send a slave through. Not that I'd do that, but…" Dorian trailed off. 

“I know. You can see how that sort of thing started," I agreed. "I can’t believe we can't find any evidence of anyone ever trying this.”

“I suppose they never needed to. They-“

Someone knocked on the door. Dorian opened it and a servant said to me, “This came for you, Dominus.” She handed me a note sealed with a sigil I didn’t recognize. I thanked her, inspecting the sigil while Dorian closed the door behind her.

“Your secret lover looking for an assignation?” Dorian said.

“Something far more interesting, I think."

“More interesting than a secret lover?”

“Meh. Got bored with him weeks ago. He was a snooker enthusiast; wouldn’t shut up about his balls.”

Dorian snort-laughed. I handed him the envelope. “Recognize this?”

He studied the seal. “Not offhand. It’s not one of the Families.” He handed it back to me. “Are you going to find out, or just admire the exterior?”

I cracked the seal. Inside was one small piece of paper that read _May have found your beloved pet. Contact me concerning papers and reward. Warning — pet bites._ There was an address at the bottom. I grinned. “It’s Asina. He liked my ad.”

“I doubt that’s his actual address,” Dorian said, “More likely a drop or even a messenger service.”

“That’s fine. I’ll leave him a note. At least something’s happening.”

“Make sure he doesn’t have any tattoos.”

**=#=**

I took my response to the address, which was indeed a messenger service. I dropped it off and continued downtown. Quintus was in his usual spot in the card room at the inn, so I played the obligatory hands of Wicked Grace (surprising myself by winning two of them) and met him at his customary table in the front.

"He bit?" the older man said.

"Looks that way. Got a note today, so the ball's rolling. Thank you." I handed him an envelope. "I think you'll find everything in order."

He broke the seal and rifled through the contents quickly, looking up at me with a grin. "I appreciate a man who knows the value of a generous bonus."

"Just upholding my end of the bargain."

"Lotta bastards don't see the value in that once they got what they wanted — 'specially rich bastard mages like you and your friend," he said with a wink. I wasn't sure what the wink was about. "You need information again, I'll give you my _dealt square the first time_ discount. And this I'll give you for free: Asina may be easy on the eyes if you go in for that sort of thing and he'll act like your best friend, but if mood or money strikes, he'll put a knife in your back without a moment's thought then go out for cocktails."

I shrugged. "Sounds like your typical Orlesian garden party."

He laughed. "Can't abide them masked bastards. So are we good then? No further services required?"

"We're good. Appreciate your work, Quintus. I'll look you up should I need anything else."

"I'll likely be here," he said cheerfully. We shook hands and I left, not wanting to sink my winnings back into the card game. I swung by the _Bent Staff_ , but Ash and her looming boyfriend were nowhere to be seen so I went home.

**=#=**

Nothing much happened that night except I beat Dorian at two out of three games of chess, then a half dozen games of cribbage, at which point he declared I was either cheating or had enlisted the spiritual help of some long-dead ancestor and refused to play one more game until “this cursed night is over”.

When I got up the next day there was another, larger note waiting for me. I got coffee and went out to the balcony where Dorian was already sitting writing something official-looking. “Magister stuff?” I inquired as I sat.

“Landowner stuff, actually,” he replied. “A new neighbor has gotten it into his head that a piece of our land that just _happens_ to contain a very nice slice of waterfront actually belongs to him. I am ensuring he’s disabused of that notion.”

“Ah. Well I’ll leave you to it then.” I took a placid sip of coffee.

He set his pen down. “You most certainly will _not_. I have been waiting approximately ninety-two minutes for you to haul your slothful self out of bed and look at your letter.”

“You didn’t think I was slothful last night.”

“Hm. I suppose at your age you _do_ need more time to recover.”

“Arse,” I fired a very small electric bolt at him for that but relented. “All right, I’m curious too. By the way, how did you arrive at _ninety-two_ minutes?”

“It sounded better than _over an hour_ ,” he said as I broke the seal and pulled out the note, which was longer than the last one.

“I do appreciate your innate ability with wordsmithing,” I said. “So what have we here…” I read the note aloud:

_Impressed with your dedication to finding a mere pet. So few people truly care these days. Don’t know that I can accommodate your desires concerning the return of the fellow, but would be willing to discuss. Location is a ways out of town, but I’m sure such a strapping and adventuresome man such as yourself would have no trouble negotiating the roads to Not My Real House. If this note finds you amenable, respond with a simple acknowledgement, same messenger service, and I will provide directions and timetable._

_Should you not wish to accept my invitation, I must warn you that I shall become very cross. I may decide not to meet with you at all. I may even give your pet’s papers away. I understand this may have amusing repercussions back at the Kennels._

_Looking forward to a delightful discourse, I remain_

_Yr. Humble Svt._

“Well, I’d say it’s far too straightforward to be a trap,” I said.

“What’s all that about papers?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. I just threw that into my fake ad. Maybe it amused him?” and thought _oops, forgot I didn’t tell him about that part._

“Hm,” Dorian said suspiciously, “Speaking of things he finds amusing: ‘strapping’?” 

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m strapping?”

“Frankly, no. Iron Bull is strapping. Blackwall - excuse me, Rainier - is strapping. You: not strapping,” he said conclusively.

“I happen to agree; I was just wondering what you’d say. Personally I always saw myself as more… lithe.” 

He looked me up and down. "I might agree that lithe has some merit. I may need to investigate further."

"That can be arranged," I folded the note back up. “I’ll go, of course.”

"Alone? Are you sure that's wise? Look what just happened to me."

"It's different. He wasn't after me; I'm after him."

"What are you going to do when you _do_ meet him? I doubt he'd go peaceably back to Orlais to face trial with you."

I chewed the inside of my lip, thinking. "Truth? I really don't know. I'm just going to have to play it by ear. It depends on what he does."

"What does Cassandra want you to do?" Dorian floated his pen in front of him, using a bit of kinetic energy to make it spin in lazy circles.

"She didn't exactly say. She'd probably be happy if I killed him, but you know me: I want to find out about him first."

"I imagine she trusts your judgement," he sent the pen spinning the other way.

"She doesn't have much choice. You want to bring that in for a landing so I can write him a response?" He sent the pen arrowing over to me; I snatched it out of the air. "I don't suppose you have more paper right there?"

He slid a piece over. "Egad, you're demanding today."

"I love it when you use antiquated swear words," I said as I wrote, "Gets me all tingly inside."

"Just when I thought I knew everything about you…"

**=#=**

A few hours later I dropped off my acceptance note, resigning myself to at least another overnight wait. Not that it was unpleasant staying with Dorian; if I’d had my way I’d be there full time anyway. I just don’t like waiting.

I took my time walking back, just to enjoy the sights and activity of Minrathous. For all its flaws — including much evidence that magisters for a very long time have been jury-rigging building repairs with magic rather than spend the money and time to actually fix the infrastructure, which I think will eventually come back to bite them in the ass — it really is a grand city. I’m sure my opinion is somewhat colored by the fact that I can freely admit to being a mage and even practice casual magic in public without having to worry about some terrified mob trying to kill me, but I much prefer Minrathous to Val Royeaux.

In fact — and perhaps this will make me a terrible man in some people’s eyes — I’ve grown fond of a great deal of Tevinter. 

Yes, slavery is a horrible thing and I do not condone it; I would never own slaves myself and find the practice abhorrent. That said, my refusing to deal with Tevinter because of that isn’t going to change their opinion one whit. Even if they as a country finally admit it is a Bad Thing and decide to abolish it, it’s become so damned entrenched in their culture and economy that they wouldn’t be able to do it overnight. 

What really opened my eyes to that little truth was, in fact, talking to a slave in one of the noble houses in Minrathous the first time I’d come up for an extended visit. I said something alluding to how he must be aching for freedom and he laughed in my face. Within that household he’d worked himself up to where he was a trusted slave who commanded a sizeable staff, he told me, and his owners were legally obligated to provide him with food, clothing and shelter. Why would he want to throw all that away just to try and scrape out a meager living scrambling to find work that would  provide him what he already had, but in meaner accommodations surrounded by masses of equally desperate ‘free’ people? He was well-treated by his masters and accustomed to their level of wealth; to him, becoming a freedman would be a step down. When I pressed him, he admitted he was aware many slaves were ill-treated, but reiterated that that was not his problem, and that many free soporati weren’t treated much better, let alone the sort of crushing poverty and abuse that - for example - alienage elves in the south faced. There was nothing I could say that would get him to think otherwise, and I have to admit that I could understand his position even if I wasn't happy about it. 

Dorian tried to tell me the same thing years ago when we were first getting to know one another, but at the time I wasn’t particularly willing to listen; a lifetime of hearing how unspeakably evil Tevinter is wasn’t easy to dismiss in just a few days.

I found the slave’s attitude somewhat dismaying, but I’d been more dismayed by the number of mages I’d met in southern Thedas that wanted to return to their Circles because they’d been _safe_ and - like the slave - provided with food, clothing and shelter so they never had to think about providing such things for themselves. Those people were practically injuring themselves in their mad dash to escape the discomfort and uncertainty that freedom inflicted upon them. So much for lofty ideals.

I’m just suggesting the rest of Thedas doesn’t necessarily have much to brag about. The south is probably the best of the lot, though many elves may disagree. The Qun is all about rigid classism; they just pretty it up with the trappings of religion and its attendant ersatz moral superiority. Dwarven society isn’t any better with its equally rigid caste system. At least Tevinter flat-out tells you you're a slave. I’m not sure what the moral of that is, other than being on the bottom rungs of society stinks no matter where you are.

**=#=**

I got back to Dorian’s early that evening and was surprised to see a response from Asina already there. I had a quick look round for Dorian, but he was still out. I decided it wouldn’t do any harm to read my message without waiting for him, so I went into the sitting room and cracked the seal on the envelope. The note inside was brief and efficient: _Looking forward to it,_ followed by directions to a place a few hours out of town and a time in the next afternoon. Considering how quickly his note had gotten to me, I wondered if he’d been watching when I dropped off mine earlier, then decided it didn’t really matter. I was just glad to be _doing_ something. Hard on the heels of that thought, I realized my progress was also bringing me quickly up to the time when I’d have to return to the south and let Cassandra know what happened. I wasn’t looking forward to the trip, and while I wanted to see my friends, my nug and my house, I was not eager to start dealing with the mysterious bastard in Hasmal who wanted to do me serious harm. Life would be much easier if I could get a straight answer out of Dorian about what he bloody wanted when it came to living arrangements. Like it or not, we were going to have a discussion, and soon.

He got home not long after, and for the time being I pushed my irritation out of my mind. I showed him Asina’s note, asking, “Do you know the place?”

He stroked the patch of hair under his lower lip thoughtfully. “I might. It’s a bit hard to say with nothing but the address, but there are some very nice estates out there and I’ve been to a few of them. Most of them follow a pleasure-palace theme. Lots of pools and waterfalls and excuses for people to wander about half- or undressed. Are you quite sure you want to go there alone?”

“Worried I’ll succumb to temptation?” I teased.

“Hm. More like he’ll drug you, have his way with you and kick you out naked on the main highway for shits and giggles.”

I glared at him. “You seem remarkably cheerful describing that scenario.”

“Merely running worst-cases through my mind,” he said innocently. “I _do_ think we should set up something like your dragon before you go, though. Even if Asina does nothing, there are other threats between here and there.”

I agreed that made sense, so we searched until we found something that would work with the sympathetic magic spell I’d used (this time it was a rather ugly carved wooden pipe holder that could be easily broken) and keyed it to Dorian. As frequently happens when the opportunity to discuss magical theory arises, that took us off into a tangent concerning differing techniques for the same sort of spell. We were still in the midst of that conversation when one of the servants approached with a note for Dorian. His face grew hard as he read it.

“ _Venhedis_! Those _bastards_.” I asked him what was wrong. “They’ve finally managed it. One of the Lucerni is dead. Another ‘accident’ that clearly wasn’t one.”

“Do you know who ‘they’ are yet?”

“Not in such a way that we can come out and say it, but we have a very good idea who’s behind it.”

“In other words, nothing’s changed on that front except they’ve claimed their first casualty,” I concluded.

Dorian sighed. “Exactly. We can’t be seen to move against them, but they can come after us with near-impunity because they have the status and connections we lack.”

“Am I right in assuming that at least some of them are the same ones who had your father killed?”

“Oh, yes,” he said grimly. “I’d best get hold of Mae; we need to decide how to deal with this. Will you be all right if I have to leave you to your own devices for a while?”

“I’m sure I’ll muddle through."

“I didn’t mean it in the sense that you can’t survive without my constant presence by your side, I hope you know,” he added. 

“I know. Don’t worry about it. I want to reinforce my coat tonight anyway. I’ll find ways to amuse myself.”

“It’s not that I’m trying to exclude you,” he said uncomfortably.

I smiled at him. “Dorian. It’s okay. If you’d like my input I’d be happy to give it, but I am _fine_ with not being involved. I don’t know the inner workings of the Magisterium like you and Mae, so I really won’t be offended if you leave me out of it. Now go — if you finish early enough we might still be able to salvage some sort of night.”

“Thank you, amatus,” he said with relief. “I know you keep saying you don’t want to get involved, but…"

“One of these days I’m going to have to find myself an actual occupation just to convince you,” I said. “I’ll see you later; GO.”

He kissed me goodbye and left. I actually didn’t mind: Not only have I truly had my fill of politics, but I wanted to go over the notes Cassandra had given me and I couldn’t very well do that with Dorian right there. I cadged an early meal off the kitchen staff then spent the next few hours poring over the notes while I reinforced all the hardening spells on my coat. I have to admit I found Asina rather intriguing. He wasn’t your run-of-the-mill murderer. At the same time, it wouldn’t do to make the mistake of underestimating him. All in all, I was looking forward to my meeting; it promised to at least be interesting.


	46. Indelicate Negotiations

“You should take the sending crystal.”

“I thought that’s what the ugly pipe holder was for.”

“No, that’s for emergencies when you have no other recourse. The sending crystal is so you can tell me you’re alive,” Dorian said with exaggerated patience.

“You’re probably right.” I secured the crystal in its usual pocket in my coat, stifling a yawn. “Maybe I should take a driver. Then I could sleep on the way there.”

“You’re more than welcome to. Just don’t forget him there this time.”

“There _were_ extenuating circumstances, you’ll recall. I’m just surprised the horses were still there.” I didn’t succeed in stifling the next yawn. “Fuck it, I’ll take you up on that driver.”

Dorian rang for a servant, saying, “Good. That way you can also point out to him that you have a driver waiting if things start to go sideways.” He instructed the servant to tell the stables to ready a vehicle. “I’ll be out most of the day, but let me know when you’re coming home, will you?”

“I promise,” I said. “Besides, nothing’s going to go sideways. I just want to talk to him for the moment so there’s no need for all this fussing.”

“Like you wouldn’t be fussing equally if it was me going out there."

“After what happened with Docilus, I’d probably be following you whether you liked it or not,” I admitted. “Maker, I hate getting up this early.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at me. “You know, amatus, you’ve gotten progressively worse with this nocturnal bent of yours. Are you quite sure that’s a good idea?”

“Probably not, but I’ve always been more of a night person. Since I haven’t _had_ to get up early the last year or so, I don’t. I live in hope that it will come in useful somehow.” I fiddled with the prosthesis, trying vainly to get it to sit more comfortably on my arm.  “Fucking thing. Why? Does my staying up late bother you?”

“No, I’ve always preferred staying up nights myself. I was merely making an observation.” He smoothed his hair even though it was already perfect. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go strategize how best to strike terror into the hearts of our enemies while appearing to be doing nothing more than stunning them with the sheer grandeur of my wardrobe and exquisite coiffure. Be careful, would you?”

“Don’t worry, I will,” I assured him. “I will keep in mind that he’s a stone cold murderer. But at least I’m only dealing with one; you’re surrounded by them half the time.”

“Yes, but in the Magisterium murders have _rules_. Come here, you.” He gave me a rough embrace and a kiss goodbye. I struggled to stifle another yawn, causing him to say, “Well I can see that _you’re_ overwhelmed with passion.”

“Sorry. That was lovely; I just can’t seem to wake up. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” A servant came to inform me the coach was ready, so I went out the back to the stables while Dorian left out the front.

I slept nearly the entire way to Asina’s.

The coach pulled up to the gates of an estate. I couldn’t see what sort of place it was, as a high wall surrounded the grounds. A very serious-looking gatekeeper verified my identity and we were allowed through. I sat up straighter and tried to force myself into some semblance of alertness; I didn’t want to look like I’d spent most of the last two hours asleep. We traveled up a well-tended road that cut through park-like grounds for a good five to ten minutes before the main house came into view. It was made of the white stone so prevalent in and around Minrathous and involved many columns, archways, and delicate terraces, all offset and complimented by perfectly manicured gardens, flowers a riot of tasteful colour against lush green shrubbery. Here and there beautifully carved statuary peppered the grounds. It was all very striking, and I wondered who actually owned the place and how Asina managed to acquire use of it, if in fact it really wasn’t his home.

A liveried footman opened the coach door. As he directed my driver to wherever the staff was allowed to lurk, I climbed the few low steps to the ornate door and knocked (the knocker was solid brass, cast in the shape of a dragon’s head). An elven butler answered, saying the Master was awaiting me. I followed him through the grand foyer and down a tastefully decorated hallway. He opened a black ironwood door at the end of the hall and indicated I should enter. Past the door was a short hallway that turned left after only a few paces, went straight for several more, then turned right to enter the room proper. Typical defensive setup; if enemies tried to enter it would be a simple matter to keep them bottled up in the entry hall rather than let them come bounding in to kill or kidnap you. It most likely had a magical trap or hidden gate right at the exit.

The room I entered was large without being overwhelming. One wall was mostly windows overlooking exquisite gardens (unlike Docilus's, these gardens were real). The room was lushly carpeted in dark red, with tapestries in shades of gold, brown and white adorning the walls. It appeared it was meant primarily to entertain in, as there was a full-sized bar at one end along with gaming tables. The other end, closest to me, held comfortable-looking couches and chairs with low tables in front of them, set up to facilitate easy conversation. Lounging on one of the couches was a man. I couldn’t make out his features as light from the wall of windows behind him turned him into a man-shaped silhouette. Another defensive measure; he could certainly see me clearly.

“Welcome! Come in, make yourself comfortable,” the man said. His voice was a well-modulated tenor. He picked up a device and in moments the windows darkened and lights came on. All magically generated, of course, so the light was a steady white that the south never sees. I walked into the room and got my first look at Kaeso Asina.

The Chantry sketch artist hadn’t done him justice. He had skin the colour of russet or rich cedar (not to imply he was wooden - far from it) with cool undertones, dark, close-cropped hair and beard and icy grey eyes that slanted up slightly at the outer corners. He was wearing loose-fitting trousers of patterned red and gold and a richly brocaded vest. His smoothly-muscled body looked sculpted. Anyone who looked that good had to be a terrible person just to maintain some kind of cosmic balance, didn’t they?

He grinned lazily (naturally, he had perfect teeth). “Well, well, Kai Trevelyan. I’ve known _of_ you for years; nice to meet the man himself.” He arched an eyebrow at me. “Care for a romp between the sheets? Or up against the wall if that’s more your style. You’re not bad-looking from some angles, though I have to admit I’m a bit surprised a peacock like Pavus went for you. You should play up your eyes — they’re your best feature…at least of what’s currently visible. Perhaps it’s what’s _not_ visible that dear Dorian finds so alluring?”

He finally paused to take a breath. I said, “Excuse me?”

Asina laughed. “Now don’t go getting offended — you southerners are so touchy — I give it a try with anyone who’s reasonably good-looking. Sometimes I even get lucky. After all, you never know the sort of depths you might be able to explore if you don’t test the waters. Sit! Take your coat off.”

I sat in an armchair arranged at an angle facing the couch, gave him a half-smile back and said, “If I remember the order correctly: Good to meet you as well; no thank you; you damn me with faint praise, _serah_ ; I can’t speak for him; I’m not offended; I applaud your effort and I’ll leave it on for now, thanks.”

He laughed again. “Making me remember exactly what I said? That’s most unfair of you.”

“So what should I call you? Trevon Delisle or Kaeso Asina?” I asked.

“Oh, Trevon is no longer with us; sadly, Orlais was the death of him. You’re welcome to call me Kaeso,” he said. 

“Well, Kaeso, I’ve come rather a long way to find you."

“May I remind you I’m aware you’re no stranger to these parts and I know _why_?”

“I’m quite aware of that, but the fact is this particular trip was for your benefit. I’m sure you know the why of that as well.”

He sat forward, elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Let’s pretend for the moment I don’t. Whatever could bring the former Inquisitor back up here before he’d planned on his next assignation?”

“Well, there is the small matter of a double murder with…disturbing overtones.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Pfah. The chinless mump deserved it twice over and the sister should have picked a better time and place to take a late-night constitutional. I _like_ the disturbing overtones comment, though. Makes me feel my work was appreciated.”

“You don’t deny it?” I was a bit surprised.

“Why should I?” He lounged back into the couch, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Despite what you may be telling others, the Chantry is hardly going to send someone after me for something so inconsequential. Besides, I did a superb job, demonstrating both creativity and grace under pressure. Don’t tell me with _your_ body count you somehow find that objectionable.”

“I don’t murder people,” I said flatly.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’re one of _those_. ‘It was _war_ ’!” he said dramatically and snorted. “Ask their families and they’ll probably have a different opinion. But no matter. You don’t enjoy killing, am I right?”

“No, I don’t.”

“And yet you’re so terribly _good_ at it! Ironic, isn’t it?” he grinned. “Well, it so happens that I do enjoy killing people and I’m _also_ terribly good at it. I won’t lie to you — that figured greatly in my career choice. But since I believe we’ve established that the Chantry is not quite as distressed as they might pretend to be about the loss of one sister and one unequivocal dolt, what do you suppose _does_ concern them?”

“I don’t think whoever paid you to spend a year pretending to be a librarian did it with the goal of having you murder an idiot third cousin to the Divine,” I said.

He chuckled. “I take it you read his journals?”

“I may have experienced that particular torture, yes,” I agreed. “If it had just been him I may even have allowed that it could be justifiable homicide. But you were busy with other projects as well.”

“One must avoid idleness at all costs for therein lies the road to corruption,” he intoned piously.

“And so you spent quite a bit of time and effort gathering some very choice reading material,” I said.

“I do so love all the big words they contain.”

“And what do the people you acquired them for think of them?”

“Is that what this is about, then?” he said brightly. “The Chantry was concerned enough to send someone after me for _that_?” He leaned forward again and said conspiratorially, “What do you suppose they’re worried about? Perhaps included amongst my little treasure trove there are diaries in which our young Divine recounts her masturbatory fantasies with some young Nevarran noble, hmm? Or perhaps even, dare I suggest, a _commoner_? You were supposed to gasp at the audacity there.”

“That’s the best you can come up with? Not exactly gasp-worthy,” I said.

He grinned, “One tries. Does confirm you as a non-believer, I'd say. So they didn’t tell you what was in the documents, did they?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really care. As you just confirmed, I’m no fan of the Chantry.”

“Then why are you here trying to get their documents back?”

“I didn’t say I necessarily was. I’m here as a favour to a friend, that’s all. As you pointed out, I’d be going to Tevinter regardless, so it made sense to ask me to look into it.”

“I see.” With no warning, a dagger appeared in his hand and he just as quickly sent it flying at me.

I threw up a barrier before it could touch me and countered with a flashbang and a force spell that sent him flying back into the couch. I levitated the dagger off the floor and set it spinning in lazy circles in front of me, like Dorian had done with his pen the day before.

Asina smiled, and for the first time the smile included his eyes. “Well done! You’d be surprised how many people don’t pass that test.”

I sent the dagger flying back to him hilt first and dropped my barrier. “You did mention you like killing. I assumed you’d prefer talking to someone who’s a worthy adversary.”

He caught the dagger and disappeared it somewhere in his loose-fitting pants. “I like you, Kai — may I call you Kai?” At my nod he continued, “I begin to understand what your peacock sees in you. One never knows if the reputations people have are matched in reality. So if you’re not here to wrest my reading material from me, why _are_ you here?”

“That rather depends on you, Kaeso.”

“Really? How interesting. I think that calls for a drink. You _will_ at least join me in a drink, won’t you?” he stood and crossed the room to the bar.

“I’ll take a beer if you have one,” I said.

He turned and pouted at me. “A beer? How pedestrian of you. Ah well, I suppose I understand. If it’s bottled and sealed there’s less chance I can tamper with it. Fine. A beer it is then.” He prepared a drink for himself and brought me a bottle of beer, rolling his eyes as he handed it to me. I chilled and opened it as he rearranged himself on the couch.

He raised his glass in a toast and took a drink. “Antivan brandy. Exquisite; you’re really missing out. So tell me, Kai, how shall my actions determine yours?”

I swallowed some of my beer and said, “I need to know what you’re going to do.”

He grinned at me again. “A rather open-ended question, isn’t that? What if I told you I was going to make another attempt on your life?”

“I’d tell you I thought you were more imaginative than that.”

He nodded, “As it happens, I am. By the by, did you get to see the little tableau I left for the good Sisters in the Grand Cathedral?”

“Sorry, only read about it. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux in years.”

“Can’t say as I blame you; that _accent_ ,” he shuddered theatrically. “A shame you didn’t see it though. Very tricky, getting them posed like that. I could have done so much more, but time constraints…” he sighed.

“No point dwelling on past glories,” I said. “I’m more interested in knowing what you’re planning to do now that you've completed the job.”

“Yes, yes, the precious packets I liberated from them,” he said testily. “ _Must_ you have such a one-track mind? What ever happened to the art of conversation?”

“What in the world would you be interested in conversing with me about?” I asked. I was actually a bit curious.

“Well, we do have quite a bit in common, you and I,” he took another sip of his drink. “Terrible disappointments to our families, both of us, though ironically if we’d been born into each other’s families we’d be the shining stars of their constellations.”

“You’ve done your homework,” I said.

He smiled lazily. “As have you, given you didn’t have to ask what I was alluding to. Convenient for your family, though: They didn’t actually have to go to the trouble of disowning you. Your Chantry took you away _for_ them. Still, we’re both dirty little secrets, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know that I’m much of a secret; more like a non-entity,” I said. “You seem to be doing all right for yourself. Not just thrown out on the streets, I take it?”

“Oh, heavens no. By the time they realized I had less magic than the furniture (which had possibly absorbed some ambient magic over the years) father and mother had grown far too attached to me. I was a most charming and attractive child, you know, but by twelve they’d resigned themselves to there being no chance I was a late bloomer — remind me to tell you sometime how a frantic Altus family goes about determining their precious child possesses no magical ability; it'd curl your hair if you had any — so arrangements were made.”

“My sympathies,” I sipped at my drink. “Yet you still use the family name. Does that bother them?”

"Oh, I certainly hope it does," he said enthusiastically. "Realistically, though, they're probably blissfully unaware of it; too busy with their own vicious little power struggles with _real_ people, don't you know. Tell me, those Templars they had watching you all in your prison circles — did they watch you _everywhere?_ Did the unpopular Templars get lavatory duty?"

"They were… omnipresent. It was probably just as unpleasant as you imagine."

"I mislike people intruding on my privacy. They tend to end up dead," he said flatly. "Did you get revenge on the Templars once you got out? Cut a nice, bloody swath through their ranks?"

"Couldn't be bothered; I had more interesting things to do," I replied. "In any case, they were managing to implode quite well on their own."

"You don't hate them? I would hate them." He sounded truly curious.

"Most of them weren't terrible people. They were just doing what they'd been told to do. I don't know that they enjoyed watching us much more than we enjoyed being watched. Of course, there are always a few exceptions that _are_ terrible people; we were just lucky that that was rare where I was," I said.

"So you didn't kill any Templars?" he seemed disappointed.

"I killed more than I can count. I also killed mages and a staggering number of Qunari. But they were all trying their level best to kill me at the time; it had nothing to do with revenge.” 

He grinned, "How very noble of you. At least you don't claim to be a pacifist. I do think you're giving revenge killing short shrift though; better than taking out someone random who's never done a thing to you, don't you think?"  He sat forward on the couch so close our knees were nearly touching, eyes sparkling with good humour. “Shall I tell you a secret? I think I shall. You mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone, as one black sheep to another. When I was nine I killed my darling baby brother. It was terribly simple. I just wrapped my hand in part of his blanket and held it over his little nose and mouth until he stopped struggling. Everyone was very sad, but sometimes these things happen, they said. Babies sometimes die in their cribs. They told me everything would be fine and gave me ice cream. Tell me, what does Dorian taste like when you have his cock in your mouth?”

I gave him a sardonic smile. “That’s not really any of your business, is it.”

“You can look up the record of my baby brother’s birth and death. A very nice couple that were beholden to my family were paid to take me in and raise me to majority. Don’t worry — they’re still alive.” He drained the rest of his drink, fetched the bottle of brandy from the bar and returned to pour himself another. “I heard all about you when you were running the Inquisition. Such stories they were too! Who came up with the chosen by Andraste angle?”

“It was a misunderstanding some people chose to capitalize on. Who hired you? The Nevarrans?”

He grinned. “Of course. Who else would care enough to make all those Pentaghasts and Van Whatsits look bad?”

“Aren’t they expecting you to give them the documents, then?” 

“Probably,” he shrugged. “They never actually specified that I was to give anything to them. They just wanted them stolen along with a great deal of evidence pointing to the people they wanted to ruin. The Pentaghast idiot was always supposed to be disposed of publically, since he really did turn traitor with practically no urging whatsoever. So do _you_ normally take it up the ass, or does Dorian? Or do you trade off as the mood suits?”

“Are you always this rude?” 

He laughed. “No, normally I’m much more direct. I put on my good manners hat for you.”

“Thanks ever so. Have the Nevarrans paid you everything they owe you yet?”

“And you call _me_ rude. As a matter of fact, they haven’t. It’s giving me a very bad impression of Nevarrans, let me tell you. Will you be suggesting I give you the parcels as a way of thumbing my nose at the Nevarrans next?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” I allowed. “So what are you doing now? Just… sitting around waiting for them to contact you like some jilted girlfriend?”

“You wound me, _serah_ ,” he said, still smiling, but underneath there was a twinge of irritation. “I haven’t as yet taken on another project, no. I haven’t found one sufficiently interesting.”

“A year’s a long time to have been away,” I said.

“Your point being?” he sipped at his drink.

“People move on. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. Perhaps there hasn’t been a great deal of demand for your particular brand of services lately?”

“There will be,” he said confidently. “This is Tevinter, after all. True story: a man once hired me to kill another man because the poor sap had mispronounced his name.”

“That's ridiculous enough I'm inclined to believe you. That must have been quite the undertaking, convincing everyone you were a Nevarran librarian.”

“I am a consummate professional,” he said, good humour restored in an instant, “and people are stupid. They see what they expect to see, moreso if it’s wrapped in an attractive package. It’s amazing what one can get away with.”

“So what sorts of things _do_ interest you professionally?” I said, “Besides murder, that is.”

“Oh, I’m very broad-minded as long as it presents a challenge. Or sufficient amusement; I’m a great fan of things that amuse me. So do you ever use magic to _enhance_ things? Spread eagled with a binding spell, suspended in mid-air while tongues of electricity lick at you, say?”

“Is that what you’d do?” I asked.

“You wouldn’t want to know what I’d do,” he said, expression going cold and flat for a heartbeat. Then he smiled, “Or perhaps you just wouldn’t care, since I consider myself more of a ladies’ man, except when I’m not. Tell me, when you were Inquisitor, did you ever, say, call in any of your worshipful followers to blow you just because you could?”

"Sorry, no," I said.

He _tsk_ ed. "You baffle me, Kai. I certainly would have. Otherwise what good are most of them?"

“Why all the prurient questions, Kaeso?” I said, "I find it difficult to believe you're actually interested."

“I’m a curious fellow by nature,” he said with a smarmy smile.

“So you’re not just fishing for a reaction?”

“Of course I am. As I said, people are stupid. Many of them would be at my throat by now. Doesn't seem to have worked with you. Perhaps I should have insulted your mother instead?"

"You could try, but I'm afraid that ship has sailed. Takes all the fun out of it if you can't catch me off-guard, doesn't it?"

He sighed sadly. "It does indeed. That’s why I like you, Kai. We understand one another.”

The strange thing was, even though I knew he was mad and dangerous, he was oddly likeable. I had an idea forming in my mind and I wasn’t sure if it was brilliant or madly irresponsible. “So you understand that I’d like those parcels the Nevarrans don’t seem to want.”

“Naturally. But you can’t expect me to just _give_ them to you.”

“I suppose not. What would strike you as a fair trade?” I took another sip of beer as Kaeso slipped back into lounging position, propping his feet on the low table in front of him.

“I suppose sexual favours are out of the question?” he said.

“Definitely.” 

“Pity,” he sighed. "Wouldn't work to ask about sexual favours from your mother, would it?"

I sat back in my chair and affected boredom. "Remember that ship that sailed? It also sank. Not to mention for someone who claims to like a challenge you're repeatedly turning to the path of least resistance. Try harder." 


	47. Indelicate Negotiations - part 2

"Awfully demanding for someone who wants something from me," he pouted at me. 

"Perhaps we should stop faffing about then," I said. "Somewhere behind that act of yours is the man who made a successful if unusual career for himself despite his all-powerful family's objection to his very existence and managed to fool everyone in the Grand Cathedral for a solid year in order to pull off one job. Would it be too much to request an audience with him now that you've tested me a bit?"

He gave me a ghost of a smile as he sat up, his entire demeanour subtly shifting so it was clear I was facing someone very professional and very dangerous. "As you will. You'd be surprised how many fools my little tests flush out. I must remind myself that you negotiated the Great Game and came out of it with Celine beholden to you."

"Among other things," I agreed. "The Orlesians are far more impressed with their game than I am."

"Not a man for masks, are you," he said.

"No. I find they limit your vision, not to mention wreaking havoc on your complexion. And you?"

"Ah, _my_ masks make theirs look like the childish affectations they are," he smiled again. "A true mask requires no ham-handed craftsman to construct."

I nodded. "Perhaps we do understand one another. So, Kaeso, I ask you again: what might convince you to part with the items you went to such trouble to fetch only to find the Nevarrans don't particularly care now that their primary goal was accomplished?"

"Well, Kai," he said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure that I _want_ to part with them. As you say, I went to quite a bit of trouble to get them, and the Nevarrans may want them yet. If they don't, it may be that I could use them myself. I balance those thoughts against the fact that you, being the honest sort of fellow you are, will probably give them right back to the Chantry, or should I say to your dear friend Cassandra?"

"It's not absolutely necessary that I bring them back," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "More that they simply don't reach certain people, perhaps?"

"Perhaps. They'd be nearly as pleased if your parcels simply disappeared and I returned with the names of those who commissioned the job. I will allow that the Chantry was a little stingy with their information."

"Of course they were. A year in the bowels of that place made me certain they weren't about to tell you everything no matter how fond Cassandra is of you," he laughed. "Still, I'm surprised you'd admit that to me."

I shrugged. "You knew it anyway. Just as I'm sure you know they'd be happiest if I were to dispose of you for them."

"Which you won't even attempt if I give you no reason to, even though you know what I've done and what I'm capable of."

"True," I agreed. "Makes some people jump to the conclusion that I'm soft-hearted, or perhaps soft-headed."

"I've heard both theories," he grinned. "But most people don't pay attention to things that aren't thrust directly into their bovine faces. You're an interesting man, Kai. I noted how you managed to recruit practically everyone you ran across into your Inquisition, even when they should have been avowed enemies. Furthermore, they uniformly spoke highly of you. It's a fiendishly clever tactic, relentless decency. Very difficult to pull off."

"What makes you think it's a tactic?" I really was curious.

"Oh, I'm sure you truly are a decent man, but when you're playing world leader you need people to know you also can and will destroy them if need be. Balancing the two is a tricksy proposition. I'd grow weary of it personally." He eyed me sharply. "But then, you did, didn't you?"

"I grew weary of the childish power games. Balancing decency and necessary violence wasn't that difficult."

"See — that's what makes you interesting," he said cheerfully. "I must admit I fail to see the source of your devotion to Pavus, but perhaps he has depths I'm unaware of. I do confess to some personal prejudice against my magically gifted Altus brethren."

"But you're okay with me?" 

"You're gifted, but you're not Altus. Makes a world of difference; if you don't believe me, ask your amatus. Not to mention you _are_ the other side of my coin. How long _did_ they lock you up in your southern prison circle?"

I nearly told him it was none of his business, but I'd made no secret of it and he did seem to feel some kinship with me over our mutual rejection from the society we'd been born into so, "Eighteen years," I said.

"And they call us barbaric. I have no great affection for mages, but _really.”_ He shook his head. “I think in your position I might make it my mission to torture-murder as many of them as possible in my spare time, but that’s just me. We are ranging far afield now, aren't we? Have you decided what you're going to offer me to accommodate your Cassandra's wishes? I warn you no simple trinkets and baubles will sway me; as you can see, I can afford cartloads of that sort of thing."

"No trinkets," I assured him, hoping this wasn't the stupidest idea I'd ever had, "Entertainment. You did mention you've been… between jobs lately."

He raised his eyebrows, gave me another ghost of a smile. "Not the answer I was expecting. Bravo. And what to your mind might entertain me?"

"What I have in mind could entail anything from information gathering to thievery to murder depending on what's necessary and how deep you want to go." I took a sip of my beer and re-cooled it as it had gone warm.

"So far so good," he took a sip of his own drink. "I'll warn you, under no circumstances will I return to Orlais. I've had enough of that ghastly accent to last me a lifetime."

"I wouldn't dream of asking you," I assured him. "I've had enough of Orlais myself. What I'm suggesting is much closer to home."

"Overseeing the burgeoning career of a troupe of Antivan dancing girls?"

"You'll have to work that one out for yourself," I said with a grin then looked him in the eyes. "My proposal: go to work for the Lucerni."

Ice-gray eyes squinted as he wrinkled his nose at me. "Why in the maker's name would I do that?"

"It's the kind of challenge you say you enjoy. Not to mention you'd be working directly against some of the worst elements within the Magisterium."

"Did Pavus put you up to this?" he said suspiciously.

"Dorian doesn't have the slightest idea I'm suggesting this to you. If anything I'll have to sell him on it even if you _do_ agree."

He thought about that a moment and said, "For the sake of argument, explain to me what sort of reasoning is going through your fevered mind."

"You know what the Lucerni want to do, yes?"

He nodded. "I've heard bits and pieces. They seem to think they may be able to drag Tevinter kicking and screaming into the Dragon Age slightly before they name the next one. Some of the reforms they want to make are interesting, I'll give them that."

"Then you know what the traditionalists in the Magisterium must think of that."

He snorted.

"You also know what they can and will do to keep things as they are then," I pressed. "They have the connections, they have assassins and blood magic, and they're a load of amoral bastards. It'd be dangerous, but if the Lucerni had an amoral bastard of their own? The old-school magisters would never take you seriously because you're _not_ a mage; something I'm sure you've used to your advantage before. Thanks to your own family, most of them aren't even aware you exist. You could even kill some of them. Unless, of course, you’re _afraid_ of them _._ "

“Please, don’t attempt to bait me,” he scoffed. “I’ve killed mages. Killing _those_ mages would be a special treat, I admit.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. "You do paint a pretty picture. But what if I found other, equally interesting jobs while in their employ?"

"I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem. It's not like they'd need you on a daily basis. You'd be like a contractor on retainer, I'm thinking."

"And why would the Lucerni trust me, pray tell? I am, as you say, an amoral bastard and I don't particularly believe in their cause." He was looking interested, at least.

"You'd be better off in the Tevinter that they're envisioning than the one here now, but that's beside the point. They'll initially trust you because I'll vouch for you. After that it's up to you."

"But I could turn on you. I would feel no guilt for doing so."

"True," I nodded, "But what's the point? Just to prove you can be a contrary twat? Seems a little juvenile, don't you think? I'm offering you gainful employment that will entertain you and give you the best opportunity you've had to seriously fuck with a bunch of arrogant, corrupt magisters; perhaps even members of your own loving family if you're so inclined. Why would you throw that away?"

"The other side could offer me a better deal to flip and go after the Lucerni, you know." He refilled his brandy glass, swished it beneath his nose and breathed in deeply. "I don't actually feel loyalty, so I might do it."

"You might, but I was rather betting on you not being that bloody stupid," I replied. "You know as well as I that they have no respect for anyone who isn't a mage; they barely respect most of us who _are_ mages. They'd use you to do their dirty work then kill or cripple you so you'd be no further threat to them and take their money back."

He laughed. "They most certainly would. But can you swear the Lucerni wouldn't do the same?"

"While Dorian and Maevaris are part of it, yes. If they do start becoming as corrupt as the others, I would assume you'd be smart enough to get out before you were in any danger."

"What's to stop me from agreeing with you then doing whatever I want once you leave?"

"Nothing," I admitted. "That's the chance I'm taking. You note I'm not asking you for loyalty or friendship. I'm just appealing to your sense of enlightened self-interest. Not to mention, I can be a very good ally, but if you fuck me over I can also turn you into salad toppings without experiencing any guilt whatsoever." I gave him a guileless smile.

"Oh, very nice," he said happily. "He finally shows his claws. If I wasn't aware of your undeniable ability to back that claim up, would you have given me a demonstration?"

"Depends," I replied, "Some people require more proof than others. Well? Are you interested?"

"What if I'm not?"

"Then I suppose I'd try to arrive at some monetary sum that would convince you to at least give up the names of your employers if not the packages as well and you'd never see me again."

"Sounds awfully dull. I think I prefer your proposal. Not to mention I just got to experience first-hand how you managed to recruit so damned many people, and yet I'm not inclined to turn you down. Fascinating. Shall we make a toast?" He raised his glass, so I followed suit with my beer. "To entertainment," he grinned. 

"What about the original subject of this negotiation?" I said. "I still need something on that front or the rest of the deal can't happen."

"Hm." He sipped at his brandy thoughtfully. "I'll give you the names and the trinkets, but I believe I'll keep the documents. They won't be given to anyone, particularly not the Nevarrans. Not only have they not paid me the rest of what they owe me, but I expect many of their heads will be forcibly separated from their bodies once the names get to the right people. How did you know I had their real names, by the by?"

"An educated guess. Given what they were asking you to do, if I were you _I_ certainly wouldn't have agreed to it until I found out precisely who was behind whatever person or group recruited me, just in case they try to fuck me over or throw me to the wolves."

He nodded. "I've always found it preferable to _be_ one of the wolves. I believe I want a sum of money too. Otherwise it just doesn't feel right."

"Of course," I agreed. We spent some time negotiating a sum we could both live with, then a little more time negotiating when and where I'd trade him the money for the trinkets and names. To facilitate things, I agreed to bring Dorian along to meet him if Dorian agreed to my plan for Kaeso's future employment. He rang for a servant to send for my driver and accompanied me to the front door.

"Well, this has been a far more entertaining afternoon than I'd anticipated," he said.

"I agree. It's been… interesting meeting you," I replied.

He grinned. "I look forward to our next meeting. Take care of yourself, Kai."

"You as well, Kaeso."

He shook my hand, leaned towards me confidentially and murmured. "Remember what I told you about my baby brother? All true." He released my hand and opened the door, saying a cheerful goodbye as I exited.

I gave him a friendly wave back and entered the coach. At least I'd have a few things to think about on the way home. I activated my sending crystal so I could let Dorian know I'd survived my meeting unscathed. 


	48. How Far Would You Go?

"Are you _mad_?! You're mad."

"Dorian, just listen for a minute. It's not as mad as it sounds," I said.

" _Fasta vass,_ Kai, I'm sorry, but hiring Kaeso fucking Asina _is_ mad," Dorian reiterated. He paced to the windows of the study and back to where I was perched on his desk. "And I don't appreciate you involving the Lucerni in some scheme of yours to pacify the Chantry and make Cassandra happy."

" _Pacify_ the Chantry?" I echoed with a snort and tried not to sound cross. "You know my feelings about the Chantry and that is not why I suggested it.” 

“All right, forget the Chantry part. I just cannot believe you planned to drag the Lucerni into-“

“I had no thought of any such thing when I went out there. But when I talked to him-"

"You decided someone you yourself described as a conscienceless killer would be a perfect fit for us? Honestly, Kai."

"Well, perhaps if you listened to me for a moment instead of throwing a fit," I snapped impatiently.

"Throwing a _fit_?" he snapped back and paced to the window and back again. "You have not seen a fit yet. This is just me not believing what I'm hearing."

"I don't know what you're hearing; you're certainly paying no attention to what I'm saying."

"I think you've said quite enough," he sniffed.

"Don't you start up with some cursed attitude. What is your bloody problem?"

"No problem, just confirmation; I _knew_ it would happen eventually."

"Knew _what_ would happen?" I demanded.

"You. Interfering," he said accusingly, "With the _best_ of intentions, of course."

"Oh, for- So you're being this pissy because I had an idea and didn't _check in_ with you first? I was in no position to ask him to wait while I made sure you weren't going to feel I was overstepping my bounds."

"Then you shouldn't have said anything to him. You _are_ overstepping," he snapped.

"By potentially recruiting _one_ person who has a skill set you and your allies currently lack? You know bloody well I'm damn good at finding good people, but it seems your _feelings_ are more important even when one of your own gets assassinated."

"That was a cheap shot and you know it," he glared at me. 

"It's not a cheap shot when it's bloody true," I countered.

"It is _not_ about my feelings." 

I snorted. "Then what _is_ it about? What vast ethical boundary am I trampling? I'd love to know."

"I never said you were unethical. I am talking about you taking over. First it's just one person, then maybe that one person would rather talk to you than me, then you just have one more little idea, then another that you may as well just handle since you know most about it and _whoops! Look at that!_ Suddenly you're _running_ everything!"

I stared at him disbelievingly. "Oh, grow the fuck up, Dorian."

"Fuck _you,_ Kai." He strode over to the windows again and stood there with his back to me.

For perhaps five seconds I considered trying to reason with him, but I was angry as well, so I did what I usually do: stood up and walked out on him. It's not the best approach to problem-solving, but I tell myself it's better than yelling and/or getting physical. I resisted the urge to get a drink and went out to the balcony we usually frequented on nice days. It was dark, but I wasn't interested in the view anyway.

I'd been out on the balcony perhaps fifteen minutes, leaning on the railing and fuming, when I heard footsteps behind me. "Why don't you come in? It's chilly out here," Dorian said.

"I'm fine," I said shortly.

"Come in anyway."

Several snotty replies flashed through my mind, but seeing as I had just told Dorian to grow up, they wouldn't help my position at all. Instead I sighed gustily and walked past Dorian back into the study, throwing myself into the most comfortable chair. I watched expressionlessly as he took the seat opposite me.

"That… didn't go well," he said. I made a grunt of agreement. "If I stop overreacting will you stop sulking?" he continued.

"… I'll try," I said grudgingly. "Just give me a minute. It's not easy to switch gears. Would it be wrong of us to have a drink?"

"Undoubtedly," He went to the small bar and, to my surprise, got us each a bottle of beer. "I don't mind it at times," he said with a shrug as he handed me one.

I opened it and took a drink. "Are we going to talk about it or are we pretending it didn't happen until tomorrow?"

"Hm. Hash this out or spend the rest of the night giving each other resentful glares around precisely worded sentences of baleful neutrality? What would you like to do?" he said.

"I'd like to tell you my reasoning without being accused of usurping anything. It's important."

He fiddled with the ends of his moustache. “Can I say without you getting angry that I wish you’d talked to me first?”

I bit back a sharp retort. “Yes, if you’ll bloody listen to me.”

He looked like he was controlling his own choice words and said with forced calm, “I’ll listen. Do you at least understand my concern?”

I took a rather too-large swallow of beer and tried very hard to keep the irritation I was feeling out of my voice. “I understand and it is my ardent hope that by the time you hear me out you will realize your fears are utterly unfounded.”

He gave me a single, terse nod. “We’ll see. What if I have questions?”

“Ask away. But if I tell you to just keep listening, just keep listening, okay?”

“Okay.” He looked inclined to remain unconvinced, but at least he was willing to listen.

“I’m going to have to tell you a few minor things that Cass would probably have my head for if she knew I’d told you, so pretend you don’t know any of this if anyone asks,” I began, realizing my deal with Kaeso would make no sense if I stuck to the murder-investigation story. Dorian agreed, curiosity bleeding some of the anger out of his demeanour. I gave him a quick rundown of Cass’s real concerns being whatever it was Kaeso had stolen and why it was so important to her ( _not that she told me everything either,_ I added, _so I don’t feel I’m breaching much trust letting you know)._ Then I gave him a short version of the conversation I’d had with Kaeso.

“Are you starting to see why I did what I did?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I'm sorry, I get that for some reason you find him likeable, but it’s quite a leap from that to offering him work that you must see is of a, shall we say, sensitive nature. You couldn’t think of any other way to get what Cassandra wants?”

“I could, but Cass’s problem is really secondary,” I said, taking a drink and realizing with surprise that the bottle was nearly empty. I got up to get another as Dorian laughed.

“I do love the way your mind prioritizes things,” he said. “Bring me another too, would you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, handing him a bottle as I took my seat.

“The possible ruin of the new Divine and the Chantry and maker knows what sort of political disaster in Nevarra are now secondary because you’re more interested in something else.” 

“Does my personal prioritizing really matter as long as the job gets done?” I said philosophically. “Look, I’ve been watching what you and Mae and the Lucerni have been going through, and now they’ve even managed to kill one of you. That is an ongoing problem, you must admit.”

“Of course I admit it. I’m just not sure I see the brilliance of your plan.”

“You need something to combat the ones attacking you without it appearing that you're doing anything. Kaeso’s perfect. He knows how the Magisterium works, he knows who everyone is, and he’s virtually invisible to them. He’s also extremely skilled at everything from information-gathering to outright assassination.”

“He’s also certifiably crazy and dangerous,” Dorian interjected.

“Dangerous, yes. I don't know if his brand of crazy is exactly that. It's more that he hasn't the slightest inkling why or how he should feel anything for anyone but himself. He’s also bloody smart. He’s handleable,” I replied.

“Handleable,” he said flatly.

“Yes. Kaeso cares only about Kaeso. Just keep him amused, keep him feeling challenged, let him know you know he’s dangerous and don’t turn your back on him for a second. It’s not that difficult.”

“For _you_ , maybe,” Dorian said.

“You could just as easily. It’s not like I have magical — well, actually I suppose I _do_ have magical powers, but not that kind. You’re good with people, Dorian. Just keep in mind who and what you’re dealing with and you’d be fine.”

“So I’d just have to put up with him trying to get a rise out of me and occasionally trying to kill me, is that all?”

“It wasn’t a serious attempt; you’d be able to counter it in your sleep. And just ignore the baiting or call him on it. Mind you, he doesn't think much of you.”

"See? Mad," Dorian said. " _Why_ does he not think much of me?"

"You're Altus and you're a magister; he's got a bit of a problem with both for obvious reasons. And he called you a peacock, but he's not the first to do that."

He looked at me narrowly, "You do realize you are not engendering any enthusiasm in me thus far."

"Just… talk to him. I _did_ tell him this was contingent on you agreeing to it," I replied.

"Why did you not tell me that in the first place?" he said incredulously. 

"I didn't think of it.”

"You just let me get needlessly angry with you and you didn't think to tell me the one thing that would stop me getting annoyed."

"You started jumping all over me which pissed me off and I forgot. Or I assumed I'd told you that bit and you were just being unreasonable; I don't really remember."

He sighed. "I did jump all over you, didn't I?"

"I'm probably developing bruises in the shape of your boots as we speak."

"I'm sorry. It appears I'm not quite as convinced of your disinterest in putting on the leader hat again as I thought," he said a bit sheepishly.

"Apology mostly accepted," I said, receiving a stung look from him. "I just don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do to convince you. I feel like that's one reason you're still trying to keep me at arm's length and frankly, I’m sick of it."

He looked down at the bottle he was holding. "You didn't see you running the Inquisition. You were so naturally _good_ at it, and for the first few years you _enjoyed_ it. You were like some kind of black-clad force of nature."

I settled back in my chair, scratching absently at my left arm where the prosthesis had irritated it. "So, what? You're thinking I might get all nostalgic for the bits I enjoyed and try to recapture that glory?" His eyes met mine and I saw that was exactly what he was thinking. 

"All right, listen to me:" I took a drink and set the bottle down with a clunk, "Yes, I did enjoy the first few years of the Inquisition. I had no idea I was even capable of that, let alone that I'm damn good at it. It was a wonderful feeling, especially after eighteen years locked in a bloody Circle and two kicking around Ostwick not knowing _what_ to do. But you need to understand _it was a once in a lifetime thing_. That particular set of circumstances is never going to happen again, and you saw it wasn't sustainable. Most of the time, leading something that big entails exactly what I ended up doing the _last_ year and I. Fucking. _Hated_ it. Period. I only want to play leader again if it's something new and dangerous and exciting and I want to get out once it becomes established. _You_ , my dear, are part of the establishment and you're bloody welcome to it." I took another drink and said, "End of speech. You have the floor, Magister Pavus."

He laughed softly. "Imagine that. Here I've still been picturing myself as a pariah and perennial outsider and you tell me in no uncertain terms that I'm part of the establishment. If younger me knew, he'd be appalled."

"There are a lot of people who still consider you a pariah if that makes you feel any better," I offered, "which does bring us in a roundabout way back to Kaeso Asina and the services he could provide to even the playing field between you and the _real_ establishment in the Magisterium."

He looked at me with amused exasperation. "And there you go being all relentlessly decent again. Or would it be decently relentless this time? No matter. Fine, amatus, I'll talk to Asina. You do have a very good track record when it comes to recruiting people no one else would give the time of day to."

"Like Tevinter mages showing up unbidden in the south claiming they want to help?"

"Please, we both know it was immediately clear that I was bound to be the jewel of your Inquisition."

"It was to me, but there are those who claim I was biased. Just _please_ remember what I told you: not interested in running things if they do not fall within my very narrow parameters of what's worth the effort."

His eyes met mine, "I'll remember, Kai. You only want the exciting, _sexy_ parts of the job."

I grinned. "Thank you - you finally understand. Now what do you say we move on to something more entertaining?"

"I thought you'd never ask."


	49. Much Depends on Dinner

We met Kaeso Asina the next evening at an Antivan restaurant he had chosen. He’d secured a private room and was already waiting for us when the maître d' led us back. He was both dressed in and drinking something complicated and Antivan. I made the introductions as Dorian and I sat.

"Delighted," he said with a charming smile. "I hope you both like Antivan food. I find no one knows spices like the Antivans. The way they blend disparate components into something new and exciting…" He looked us over, the smile broadening as it turned salacious, "Rather like the two of you. Now that I see you in front of me, well, I can't help picturing. The difference in skin tones - I imagine it being very chiaroscuro when you're fucking."

"It really livens things up when your mother joins in," I said lazily.

Kaeso laughed with what seemed to be genuine amusement. "Oh, well done, Kai. I applaud your ability to work our last conversation into this one."

"And you're still taking the path of least resistance," I chided him.

"Not at all. Magister Pavus here is an unknown quantity." He frowned. "But I suppose you warned him about my little tests, didn’t you?"

"I may have mentioned the odd thing."

"Pity. You can find out a great deal about a person just from how they react to a few inappropriate observations, don't you think, Magister Pavus?" he turned those ice-grey eyes on Dorian.

"Since the two of you seem to be on a first-name basis, you may as well call me Dorian," he said pleasantly.

"Wonderful. And were you offended by my little observation, Dorian?"

"Not at all," Dorian smiled, "it was accurate. We look truly stunning together. But why bring it up? Are you jealous?"

"Perhaps I'm merely an art lover. One doesn't get the opportunity to work chiaroscuro into a sentence frequently."

Further discussions of art appreciation were cut short by the arrival of the waiter, who took our drink orders and gave us smallish, elegantly written menus. Another 'test' perhaps, as they were written entirely in Antivan, but neither one of us had a problem with that. We spent the time waiting for the waiter to return discussing the merits of the dishes on them. I hoped Kaeso was disappointed, but if he was he hid it well.

Once the waiter brought our drinks (for once I'd gotten something other than beer; it was an Antivan concoction Dorian swore was delicious) and took our orders, the conversation picked up again.

"So about the reason we're all here-" I began. 

Kaeso cut me off, "Really, Kai. Business before the meal is positively off-putting."

"But there's a necessary precursor to any business, you'll remember. If Dorian doesn't think your services would be worthwhile, we'll all just have a nice meal and you and I will have to negotiate a new agreement." I stood up. "So I believe I'll leave you two to explore that and be back when they bring the food."

Kaeso actually looked surprised. "You're leaving the two of _us_ to work it out? Without so much as observer status?" 

"That part of the deal has nothing to do with me," I said. "I suppose I could demand a finder's fee, but given the circumstances that would be rather rude on my part. Just let me know if we'll be talking business when I get back." I gave Dorian's shoulder a light squeeze and took my drink out to the main dining area. They had a duo of minstrels on pipes and drums playing while a girl who looked about as Antivan as I do danced inexpertly but enthusiastically on a small stage at one end of the restaurant. I pretended to be interested.

When I saw the waiter taking plates back to our private room, I followed him in and took my seat. Both Dorian and Kaeso were still alive and uninjured, so the negotiation couldn't have been a total disaster. I got the waiter's attention long enough to order coffee (given that Antiva is where coffee comes from, I couldn't possibly _not_ order it in an Antivan restaurant) then looked expectantly at the two of them as he left. "Well?"

Dorian gave me a sideways smile. "You'll be talking business after we eat."

I tried very hard not to look smug as I dug into my meal.

Once the dishes had been removed and after-dinner drinks served, Kaeso put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers in front of his face; I think he fancied it his thoughtful look. “So, I suppose we should dispense with the dull but necessary part of the night now, yes?”

“No time like the present,” I said.

He reached behind himself and produced three good-sized, soft leather satchels. “What you see here is what put your entire Chantry into a secret panic,” he said cheerfully. “As I said, I’ve decided to keep the documents, but I thought you might like to have a look at them. I’m a giving sort of person.”

I snorted, but have to admit I was curious. “Where are the trinkets you mentioned?”

“This one here,” he indicated the somewhat bulkier one, “but all in good time. There’s quite a hodgepodge here, but my employers were very clever in what they wished liberated. Compiling them was an adventure in itself. As you read through them you'll agree it seems to paint a very damning picture of your Chantry.” 

He handed me the first satchel. As I read the documents I passed them on to Dorian, figuring at this point I couldn’t possibly get into any more trouble with the Chantry if they found out. Kaeso was right. Each document on its own seemed fairly innocuous, but once they’d been arranged in the order we were reading them, they did indeed paint an ugly picture of Chantry dealings that went back decades and longer. There were records of real estate transactions, personal letters and diaries, official writs, bills of sale and scribbled notes; maker only knows how Kaeso got his hands on some of them. What emerged from them was a tapestry of shady business deals, land grabs, puppet governments, sanctioned assassinations, orchestrated uprisings leading to pogroms or toppled leaders who may have been a threat to the status quo… in other words, business as usual if you wanted to be realistic about the way large, powerful, ancient organizations work, but the sort of business that can ruin said organization if the public finds out.

The second satchel contained more of the same, but with increasing emphasis on the Chantry’s far-too-cozy relationship with elements in Tevinter, up to and including the Magisterium and the Black Divine himself. Alongside that was another series of documents outlining a very lucrative arrangement with dwarven Cartas to control the bulk of the lyrium trade in southern Thedas that I suspected were legitimate (after all, the best lies do include some truth).

Towards the end the most recent documents started hitting a little closer to home, as they increasingly involved Cassandra. I have to say they’d been skillfully arranged. Reading through them, you’d think she’d been angling for the position of Divine for quite some time, and had been willing to do just about anything including dealing with some pretty nasty people to get there: Reports from her time in the Seekers that seemed to show her insinuating herself into the leadership without merit; notes that made it appear she had manipulated Justinia into appointing her Right Hand of the Divine and allowing the reformation of the Inquisition; documents and letters that pointed to her somehow picking me to be Inquisitor with the understanding that I’d endorse her for Divine; more letters that suggested Dorian’s presence was part of the Chantry’s ongoing relationship with Tevinter while Iron Bull was a plant to facilitate closer relations with the Qunari. Other documents seemed to point to Cassandra’s family and the Van Markhams having a hand in several deaths of people who may have been able to oppose their long years of ruling Nevarra, despite the cause of death in each case being well-documented and straightforward. It was an impressive tapestry of truths woven together in such a way that they made a big, utterly believable untruth. 

As we reached the end of the documents Dorian gave a low whistle as I said, “Impressive. It’s nearly impossible to see which bits are true and which are orchestrated.”

“Delightful, isn’t it?” Kaeso grinned.

“No wonder they’re shitting themselves,” Dorian said. “Are you quite sure Cassandra is going to be fine with your not getting these back?”

“After seeing them, no,” I admitted, “but if I can assure her they won’t see the light of day, I’m guessing that will be their second choice. Why haven’t the Nevarrans collected them?”

“They tried,” Kaeso said.

“Excuse me? I thought you said they hadn’t contacted you.” I gave him a hard stare.

Kaeso produced a small dagger from one of his many pockets and began cleaning his fingernails, saying nonchalantly, “I lied. They did contact me. Wanted their epic story very badly. I didn’t give it to them.”

“Dare we ask why?” Dorian said.

Kaeso smiled, but there was an icy anger underneath it. “They were rude. Treated me like the help. I won’t have that. I spent a year of my life on their precious frame; if they can’t treat me with the respect afforded a highly-skilled professional then they can, as they say, go _fuck_ themselves.”

“You’re not worried they’ll try to come after you and retrieve it regardless of your wishes?” I asked.

“They have tried. I enjoyed it very much,” he said lazily. “Funny thing — for a people obsessed with the dead, their assassins are _very_ afraid of dying.” He smiled nostalgically, "Or should I say _while_ dying."

“Have you considered the idea that you could really rub their noses in it if you gave the documents to Kai?” Dorian said.

“Briefly,” he made a moue at me. “But Kai is at heart entirely too decent; he’d give them back. I do not like the Chantry — yours _or_ ours — so I simply cannot in good conscience do anything that might help them. I think it’s best if I retain them. It makes me dangerous to more than one world power. I deserve that after all the effort I put into retrieving them.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “More than one?”

“I may have liberated a few extra items that do not concern you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “The Nevarrans have no idea what they let loose in the Grand Cathedral.”

“You’re _not_ concerned?” Kaeso looked slightly disappointed.

“You seem to think I’m somehow politically motivated or fiercely loyal to my homeland,” I said to him. “I never was. I’m just helping out a friend.”

He looked at Dorian, who nodded acknowledgement. “Well, this is embarrassing,” Kaeso said wryly, “To think I of all people actually believed some of what people said about the Inquisitor. The very fact that you seem to have no problem with me should have told me that information was largely incorrect. I tried very hard to shock you, you know.”

“I know.” I grinned. “So Kaeso, we really should finish this negotiation. Am I to assume the documents are off the table, then?”

“You don’t think I’ll use them the moment you leave?”

“I think you’d rather see Nevarran heads roll, since they’re the ones who screwed you over after seeking you out for the job in the first place.”

He shrugged. “When you’re right, you’re right. And yes, I’m keeping the documents; they’ve become like friends to me. But I have here a list of names of those who were behind this elaborate little plot along with sufficient evidence that there will be no doubt the list is correct. You can also have the bag of trinkets. I kept a few as treasured souvenirs of my time in Orlais, but the bulk of them are there. I believe you have the agreed-upon sum in exchange?”

I nodded and showed him the money.

“I suppose it would be out of the question to ask for a letter of thanks from your Divine,” he suggested.

“You _did_ steal everything in the first place, not to mention killing a Chantry Sister,” I pointed out.

“I note you didn’t include the cousin in the list of my sins.”

“I’d say that was more of a public service. May I see the trinkets?” He handed me the final satchel. Inside was an eclectic mix of items that didn’t seem at first glance, at least, to be indicative of anything criminal. However, some of them had been mentioned in some of the documents I’d skimmed, usually as bribes given to certain officials within the Chantry. There were also a few slim volumes that appeared to be diaries; I took it that they didn’t contain anything sufficiently damning to be worth keeping. “And the list and evidence?” He handed me a thick envelope. I looked over the contents and passed them over to Dorian; I’d decided he may as well know everything I did. That might even give me a bit of insurance in the event someone decided I knew too much.

“Very comprehensive,” Dorian said to Kaeso. “Is it all true?”

Kaeso smiled benignly. “The evidence is all there in front of you. Perhaps in future certain elements within Nevarra will remember how terribly important good manners are when conducting business.”

I handed Kaeso the money, secured in a heavy pouch. “Well in the spirit of that sentiment, should we toast the conclusion of successful negotiations?”

“It would be impolite not to,” Kaeso said. “We should say something stirringly meaningless.”

Dorian raised his glass. “Na via lerno victoria*,” he intoned. We touched glasses and drank.

* * *

***** _Only the living know victory_


	50. Details

Dorian and I decided to walk home, having spent the majority of that day and evening sitting. The night was clear and warm, the streets well-lit by magically-generated lights. I was really going to miss the little things like that when I returned to the south. “So that went well,” I said.

“You were right. For a stone cold killer, he’s quite likeable,” Dorian replied. “In fact, he’s one of the better dinner companions I’ve ever had.”

"Did he try to kill you?"

"Yes, but not seriously," Dorian said cheerfully, "Just like he did with you — flung a dagger. I sent it back to him point first, made him dodge. He liked that."

“Told you you could handle him. Care to tell me what kind of arrangement you two reached? Gisting is fine.”

“Essentially what you suggested,” he quirked a smile at me, “with a few specifics pertaining to our situation. And please stop looking so smug. I had every reason to think you’d gone off the deep end.”

“You do have to talk to him to understand where I was coming from, I admit,” I said, trying to wipe any smug out of my expression. 

“I dropped by the Library while I was out today,” he said casually, “Had a look through the genealogies. The Asinas did have a son about twenty-three years ago. He died when he was only three months old. Crib death, they said. Very sad for the entire family. Interestingly, nine years previous there is no record of a birth, but if you study the record very closely, it appears to have been magically tampered with.”

“Fancy that,” I said. “Think you can continue to handle him?”

“My innate charm and fiendishly disguised wiliness guarantee it. I also know all the finest restaurants.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it under control,” I agreed. We walked in silence for a bit. “You know this means I’m going to need to get these things to Cass,” I finally said.

“You couldn’t just send a messenger?”

“Unfortunately, no. I also have to consider the fact that I’ve had a friend nug-sitting this entire time.”

“… Damn,” Dorian said quietly. “It seems like you only just got here.”

“Yeah. It’s the travel time that’s the real bitch,” I said. “Wish we could trust the eluvians.”

“All we need to do is convince Fen’Harel to give up his obsession about ending the world and take up a more constructive hobby. I’ve heard needlepoint is very relaxing for his personality type.”

I snort-laughed. “If not that, I’ve found a whole new exciting use for my prosthetic arm.”

“You can stay a _bit_ longer, can’t you?”

“I can stay,” I agreed, “for a while. I didn’t give anyone an exact timetable.”

“Good,” he said and took my hand.


	51. "...I'm really patient, but I'm not a bloody saint.”

A while turned out to be just over a week. During that time, Kaeso did something mysterious for the Lucerni, I imagine in the way of a test. I’m still not sure what it was, but Dorian and Maevaris appeared delighted with the outcome. It seemed I was vindicated in my hunch that recruiting him was a good idea.

Dorian and I spent a lot of time together, sometimes going out to entertainments, sometimes just hanging around the house, and when he had things to do I explored Minrathous and its surrounding environs more thoroughly. It was enjoyable, but as the days passed I started to get restive. Some of it was an increasing sense of guilt that I was leaving people hanging while I essentially had myself a holiday, but some of it was a deeper unease. No matter how pleasant things were, the fact remained that I was always just a visitor to Dorian’s house. I couldn’t do anything constructive when he wasn’t around because I was Just Visiting. I couldn’t find an avocation, let alone a vocation, because I was Just Visiting. And I was getting bloody sick of being a perennial houseguest just to satisfy Dorian’s reluctance to make too many waves in the Magisterium or whatever his excuse was that day.

As the week wore on I became increasingly cross. I got snappish at Dorian when he hadn’t actually done anything to deserve it, then felt like an ass for doing that, which made me more snappish. I started to drink more heavily even though I knew it wouldn’t help matters and took to taking long walks when Dorian was out not to explore, but to work off the nervous energy I’d built up. I finally told him I’d have to be leaving, as I couldn’t shirk my commitments forever. He was unhappy about it, but said he understood. I started packing my things and looking into travel arrangements.

The night before I was to leave, Dorian had been out most of the afternoon, though he’d promised to get back in plenty of time to spend a decent night together. I felt thoroughly out of sorts; more and more I felt as if I’d been shoehorned into the role of doting wife, waiting patiently for her husband to come home from doing Important Things. It was a role most of the women I knew would reject out of hand, and I now had some understanding of what they were talking about. 

I’d put off saying anything as long as possible, but I wasn’t about to leave without telling him what I was feeling, much as I mislike ultimatums. I couldn’t think of a way to pretty my words up to the point where he wouldn’t be bothered, but maybe it was time for him to feel uncomfortable for once.

While I waited for him to get home (and the fact that I was literally doing that annoyed me) I ran lines in my mind and paced. I didn’t drink anything but coffee so he couldn’t blame anything I said off on booze.

When he finally arrived I was in the study, leaning against his desk leafing through a book without actually looking at the words. I was too keyed up to sit. He walked in, said, “I’m home,” and gave me a perfunctory kiss. He’ll never know how close I came to punching him. Instead I said, “So you are,” and set the book down.

He sat in his favourite chair and eyed me suspiciously. “What in the world has been bothering you lately? I’m feeling edgy just being around you.”

“You noticed that, did you?” I said flatly.

“Rather difficult not to,” he replied. “Are you going to tell me what this is about, or just continue biting my head off at random points of the day and night?”

“Sorry about that; I know I’ve been snapping at you. I want to talk now, if you have a moment.” I paced over to the bookshelf and back to the desk.

“Go ahead,” he said.

 "Just…listen, please," I said. "I've tried to work out a way to say this to you that doesn't sound obnoxious or whiny and every time I've tried to envision it, it ends badly, but I can't leave without saying it."

"Amatus-" Dorian began, already starting to frown. I put up a hand to stop him.

"Please? If this sounds rehearsed it's because it is. Mostly. Just bear with me and I promise I’ll stop this interminable introduction."

"Take your time," Dorian said. 

I stopped pacing and sat down across from him. "Dorian. Firstly, I love you. I know you know that, but I'm stating it anyway. I love you to a degree that's somewhat frightening at times. And you know I hate bitching."

"But," he finished the thought for me. "Maevaris warned me this was coming. I'll have you know that warning occurred the _last_ time you were up here."

"Maevaris is a very intelligent and perceptive lady. My threshold is just a bit higher than she expected."

"I don't suppose we can just assume I know what you're going to say?"

I gave him a hard look. "Since you haven't acted on this prescience in the slightest, no. I've been very patient, but you owe me this."

"I-" I was pleased to see he actually looked guilty, "You're right. Go ahead. I'm listening."

I nodded. "Here it goes, then: _But_. I cannot keep doing this. I've got another damn near week-long trip ahead of me just to get back to Hasmal; the latest in a series of trips that are sometimes dangerous and _always_ a long, grubby slog. I'm getting _tired_ , Dorian. I understand you can't move back south, and I understand why you wouldn't want to. I'll also tell you flat out that the thought of losing you makes me feel physically ill. But this isn't fair.”

He winced slightly but stayed quiet. 

I took a deep breath and continued, “I'm not saying it's entirely your fault. I voluntarily made all these trips and mostly enjoyed them. And you _did_ stay with me for years down south because I was doing something important, so I have no problem with switching it around because now it's you doing something important. The _difference_ -" I paused, realizing I was verging on shouting, and adopted a more even tone, "-the difference is you stayed _with_ me and I _wanted_ you to. _You_ , on the other hand, after sincere assurances that I am the man you love and nothing would truly keep us apart, specifically _requested_ I stay away." I didn’t yell it, but it came out more than a little aggressive. That’s how I was feeling.

"Kai, you know why I asked that; it's not that I _wanted_ -" he began to protest.

"Yes, yes, I know," I said shortly as I stood and began to pace again. "And in the beginning I could allow that your reasoning was legitimate, but now? Saying my being here will in some large way damage your credibility within the Magisterium? Or that I'll take over and do everything myself? It's bollocks and I’m sick of hearing it. The only people in the Magisterium who give two fucks any more about whether you're with me or a woman are the ones who would have opposed you regardless and I've proven you needn't worry about me trying to run your show. _Some_ of your fellow magisters even seem to consider me an asset to you. They've _asked_ me why in the world I insist on returning south all the time. But you seem perfectly content to watch me knock myself out making that fucking trek every few months."

He flushed, looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't. I forced myself to sit again. "So I repeat: it's not bloody fair. I know I don't exactly have a _real_ job these days, but part of the reason for that is I'm on the road so bloody much. I can't have a life in Tevinter with you because I haven't been _invited_." 

I paused for a moment to let that sink in before continuing, "You know I'm not exaggerating when I say were I to decide to remain in the south I could literally do whatever I choose; I don't _need_ to keep coming up here, I've just _wanted_ to. And to do that I've constantly had to blow off Sera and the Jennys, enlist people to look after my house and collect my mail, and this may not mean much to you, but I have a pet at home that seems to think the sun rises and sets on me even though I have to keep boarding him with other people who have been kind enough to take him in. My friends understand, but Swivet doesn't and I feel like a complete bastard every time I leave for an extended period of time. And no, I'm not blowing you over for a nug, I'm just saying it is _not_. _Fucking_. _Fair_." I paused for breath and to dial back the aggression in my voice, staring at the floor as I did. I didn't want to see if he was looking angry or guilty or anything.

"Kai. Amatus. Can I just-"

I shook my head. "No. Don't. I don't want to talk with you about it right now. I'm just telling you how I feel. I'd hate like fuck to cut things off with you over something so easily fixed, but I cannot keep this up much longer. It's wearing me down, and I don't like what I get like when I get worn down. Simply put, love, I'd die for you but I'm not willing to kill myself for you." 

"I'd never ask you to," he said. “You-“

"Just let me finish, please. I'm nearly done. I'm not putting a stop to anything right now. I still want to talk to you as much as possible when I go back and I still want to come back here once I've gotten things squared away down south, but… I want you to think about what I've said. The next time I'm up here we'll talk about it, and depending on how that conversation goes, I'll make decisions." 

I finally looked up at him and smiled tiredly. "End of speech, I promise. I've got to finish packing; with any luck I'll have a brand new arm waiting for me when I get back home. Just remember in the midst of all that that I love you and that's why I subjected you to this monologue. I wanted to only say it once rather than make resentful little comments the whole time I was here — I’ve been tempted at times but it’s only this last week I really started to slip. Give me a few minutes alone with my bags then we can both act like this didn't happen for the rest of the night. And tomorrow we’ll say goodbye on a good note, all right?" I stood up and walked out before he could try to talk to me. 


	52. Homeward

When I got up the next day the sky was overcast and there was a slight chill to the air, all of which suited my mood perfectly. For the first hour or two after my ultimatum I had been edgy and Dorian had acted noticeably subdued. We’d finally put everything on the shelf sufficiently to finish the night well, but in the morning we were back to edgy and subdued.

I looked over my pile of luggage and asked, “Mind if I leave some things here? I need to aim for speed, and bloody great piles of luggage aren’t going to help that.”

“Leave as much as you like,” Dorian said, “Maker knows I’ve enough room here. Is there anything you need?”

I shook my head. “The messenger was from the ship. It’s confirmed, I’m booked all the way to Vyrantium; hopefully the mate’s just as understanding this time.”

“This time?” he echoed.

“I got lucky — the same ship I took from Marnas Pell on the way up was in port. All I need is to borrow your coach and driver one last time.”

“It’s yours. When do you have to leave?”

I checked the clock on the mantle. “Half an hour. I’m going to go by water as far as possible; it’s faster. With luck I should be at the crossroads in about three days. I’ll buy a horse there and go it alone the rest of the way.”

“Promise you’ll contact me every night."

“Of course. I hope I didn’t overdo it with the books; they’re heavy, but sea voyages are bloody boring. Well, unless the weather goes sideways. Then they’re terrifying.” I eyed the prosthesis, which was sticking partway out of the saddlebag I’d stuffed it in, and decided it wasn’t worth the aggravation. I’d just compensate for the missing hand with a little magic.

“Kai…” Dorian’s voice had that _I’m going to try to Talk to you_ tone.

I looked at him steadily. “No. Don’t. We’re going to say goodbye soon, and it’s going to be perfectly nice if a bit melancholy. I’ll talk to you every night and hopefully you’ll miss me as much as I’ll miss you. We’ll _talk_ when I’m back up here next. Agreed?”

He nodded. “Agreed. Even though it was technically for Cassandra, I’m glad you were able to come up again so quickly.”

I quirked a smile at him. “So am I. This has been a…fascinating visit. Stay away from tattooed men while I’m gone, will you?”

He grimaced. “Gladly. I’ll restrict myself to sadistic-but-likeable murderers for the time being.” 

“That makes me feel much better,” I said with mock sincerity.

“Kai,” he said thoughtfully, “what about whoever’s got it in for you in Hasmal? I don’t think you can assume they’ve gotten tired of waiting for you and gone home.”

“I know.” I sighed. “I’ll be on my guard, don’t worry. Much as I’ve been hoping they’ve either gotten bored or flat out died, I can’t count on that. I’ll keep you posted; other than that I don’t know what to say.”

“Just be bloody careful, will you? After adding so many new and exciting dimensions to the concept of chiaroscuro, I’ll be very peeved with you if you abandon our mutual project by getting yourself killed.”

I laughed. “Well when you put it that way, I owe it to the art world to ensure I survive. I’d better get this all loaded into the coach.”

“I’ll help,” Dorian volunteered. “You’re not wearing the arm?”

“No, it’s more trouble than it’s worth,” I said with a glare at the offending item. “It’s guarding the stuff for Cass; I’ve noticed a lot of people get squeamish around severed body parts.”

He chuckled and said, “I could go down to the docks with you.”

I shook my head. “Don’t bother. I’m just going to be pissing about getting squared away on the boat. Ship. Whichever they call it. I’ll just say goodbye here.”

We loaded my things into the coach and went back into the house so I could have one last look round to ensure I had everything. The things I was leaving went into a closet in Dorian’s bedroom. I made sure my hunting knife was secured in its sheath, refreshed a few hardening spells on my coat and checked that the sending crystal and my money were safe in their respective pockets.

“You know, I never did get to see myself in The Coat,” Dorian said.

“You looked stunning, of course,” I assured him. “It’s impossible not to look good in this coat. Next time I’m up I’ll make sure to let you see for yourself.”

“I’ll hold you to that. That is, as long as the whole _chained naked to a table while a monster prepares to devour you_ thing isn’t a prerequisite.”

“I think we can skip that, or at least the devouring-monster part of it,” I replied. "The other has possibilities."

"As long as the chains are the sort that unlock," Dorian amended.

"Of course." I checked the clock again. “It’s time. I have to go.”

“Amatus, I-” he stopped himself, stepped closer and placed a hand on each of my shoulders. “Be careful, have a good trip, don’t you dare forget to contact me every night and… thank you. I don’t know that I’ve told you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

He pulled me into an embrace, murmuring into my ear, “I love you. Don’t wait too long to come back, all right?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “We’ll have to talk when I do.”

“I’m sure.”

“I love you too. Now you’d best let me go. I’ve got to go be nautical.”

He chuckled as we broke the embrace. “Talk to you tonight?”

“Of course. I’ll tell you tales of life on the high seas.” We kissed and he accompanied me to the door. I gave him a final wave goodbye and entered the coach. I saw him still standing in the doorway as we pulled away.

**=#=**

The trip from Minrathous to the crossroads was one of the most uneventful I’ve ever experienced but it was much less boring than I’d anticipated. I may not have any talent for weather magic, but the captain found many other uses for my abilities and wasn’t shy about asking me to use them. Not being southerners, this crew was familiar with mages and while I was treated with respect, they were unafraid of me. After all, no matter how powerful I might be, I didn’t know squat about sailing a ship.

I got along well with the crew. They seemed to appreciate my willingness not just to lend my talents, but to stay the hell out of the way when they were doing nautical things I had no interest or ability in. I did learn a few basics about sailing over the three days I was onboard, and most of it was interesting (though the hour in which the well-meaning bosun tried to teach me the intricacies of one-handed knot tying bored me silly). At night I mostly read my books and talked to Dorian. Once in a while I went on deck just to look at the moon and stars and have desultory conversations with whoever was on watch. All in all it turned out to be an enjoyable little break from absolutely everything I was familiar with; I wasn’t completely looking forward to putting into port.

Once we docked at Vyrantium I bade the captain and crew farewell and made my way to a boat they’d recommended that was heading upriver to the crossroads. Dropping the name of the captain got me a berth on the vessel and a night of pub-crawling with the captains and mates of both boats. One of the mates from the new boat recognized me as the former Inquisitor, but no one gave a damn and once again it was dismissed as _that was a long time ago_. Rather than questions about whether I was the chosen of Andraste, they taught me the words to a sea shanty I’d never heard before, and that suited me just fine.

The trip to the crossroads only took one day. I caught a ride into town with the first and second mates, who had hired a wagon to pick up goods for transport back to Minrathous. Once there, I got a room at my usual inn and bought a horse from one of the few reputable dealers in the area. I went out on a somewhat less intense booze-up with the mates, got back to the inn late, and have vague memories of regaling Dorian with a rendition of the wonderful new sea shanty I’d learned before falling into bed and a dreamless sleep.

I suffered no ill effects from the booze-up aside from the usual congestion when I got up. I purchased a few supplies and paid a stablehand to get my horse ready. I felt a brief pang of guilt that I hadn’t tried to hunt down the thugs that had attacked Cam there on the way up, but I heartily wanted to get the trip over with. More than likely they’d still be there the next time I came through, if someone didn’t kill them first. Without any extra gear or companions to slow me down, I made good time on the stretch through the Silent Plains. I kept the horse going longer than it normally would have been able by casting healing spells on it and only had to overnight on the Plains once. When I got to the first major town on the other side of the Plains I sold my horse and bought a fresh one, which I rode to the closest town on the Minanter River where I bought space for myself _and_ the horse on the first transport boat heading downriver to Hasmal. Less than a week after my departure from Minrathous, I rode into Hasmal. This time it was early evening. I wondered if my enemy had some sort of magical watchdog set up to trigger when I got into town and supposed I’d find out soon enough. It felt odd being back, and I realized I wasn’t completely sure whether it felt like home or not.


	53. Hasmal [Part 2]

_Part Four: Hasmal [part 2]_

My first stop was my house. It looked the same as always, and the wards were undisturbed. I tethered my horse, scanned the area and dropped the wards on the front door. Nothing happened. Finally I unlocked the door and opened it cautiously. Still nothing happened. I went inside. The air once again smelled flat and a bit musty. There wasn't even a small stack of mail this time because Sera had offered to keep it at their place. I brought up the lights with a thought and made a quick circuit of the house. It just felt empty, and some of the tension I'd been feeling drained away. I removed my gear from the horse and dropped it off, taking an extra moment to lock Cassandra's things in the eluvian room. Then I triggered the spell on the "I'm back" bell, relocked and re-warded the door and rode up to the stables.

I handed off my horse to Jasker (who commented he'd never seen a person go through as many horses as I do) and headed up to the loft. I composed a short note, affixed the message-tube to one of my Cassandra-ravens, sent the bird on its way and went back downstairs where Jasker informed me that he'd kept an eye on my place while I was gone but hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. I thanked him and left on foot; after all the hard riding I'd done the last few days, walking was a relief.

After a brief internal debate, I set out for Mikal's. It was late enough that the bakery was closed, so I'd have to hope my nug would forgive me the lack of treats. The streets were busy even in my more residential neighborhood at that time of night, but I had to admit after Minrathous it all seemed rather quaint and provincial. Similarly, the lack of anything magical — from lighting to street performers — was a bit jarring. Normally I travelled back and forth from Tevinter as an outrider for one group or another and had time to readjust to the southern prejudice against overt magic use, but this time I hadn't done so and I was noticing it more. Either that or I'd been in Tevinter so much lately I was becoming acclimated.

Mikal answered her door at my knock and after a moment of surprise, broke into a wide smile. "Well, look who's here! If it hadn't been for Swivet, I would have begun to think I'd imagined you. Come in!" 

I took off my coat and hung it on one of the sturdy pegs mounted near her front door, saying, "It's good to see you. I hope Swivet hasn't been too much trouble." I glanced around the living room as we entered from her foyer. "Where is he, anyway?"

She rolled her eyes. "They should be through shortly. Sit! How did it go? Would you like something to drink?"

I sat. "It went well, actually. And only if you're having something; otherwise I'm fine. What do you mean, 'through'?"

She grinned. "You'll see in a few seconds. Listen."

I heard a galloping sound, accompanied by the click of nails on wood floors and a moment later Swivet came tearing through the living room as though he had an entire wolf pack at his heels. Just behind him was Donnen the cat, who executed an impressive pounce on my nug. The two of them tussled wildly for a few seconds then just as quickly broke apart, reversing directions and roles as Donnen barreled away with Swivet in hot pursuit. "Do they do that a lot?" I asked, thoroughly amused.

"It's one of their favourite games. Don't worry, it usually doesn't last long; they wear each other out at those speeds," she chuckled. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She headed to her kitchen and returned with a bottle of beer for each of us. I thanked her and took a drink.

“Not wearing the arm?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I kind of damaged it beyond all redemption; it’s just too bloody uncomfortable now. I can mostly make do without it anyway.” She’d started to ask something when we heard a small clatter and Swivet walked into the room. I swear I’m not anthropomorphizing when I say he saw me, stopped short and a look of utter shock crossed his face. Even his squeak sounded shocked. I said, “Hey, Swivet, I’m back. You still remember me?” He gave his happy squeak and trotted over, standing up on his hind legs when he reached me. I got down on the floor and fussed over him as he trilled excitedly. I apologized for not having a treat for him, but it seemed I was forgiven as he nuzzled my face. Finally I returned to my seat on Mikal’s couch; Swivet immediately stood on his hind legs again, putting a paw on my knee as he made it clear he wanted a boost up. I asked Mikal if it was all right, and at her go-ahead, boosted. He settled in next to me, using my thigh as a pillow. I scratched his favourite spot between his ears. I was a bit surprised how much I’d missed the little guy.

“I’m always a little afraid he won’t remember me,” I confessed to Mikal.

“I’d say you’re in no danger of that happening,” she said. “You know if anyone had seen that just now it would have blown your image as a scary combat mage to pieces. That was flat-out cute.”

“Even scary combat mages are allowed to be cute on occasion; it keeps people guessing,” I said. “How’ve things been here? _Has_ Swivet been a problem?”

“As you saw, he and Donnen have decided they’re friends, so no, he’s been no problem at all. I never realized nugs are that smart.”

“I don’t know about all nugs, but he’s pretty bright,” I agreed, “Of course, I’m biased.”

“As for how things have been — some of it I’ll leave for Sera to tell you. For my part I’ve been busy since you left trying to track down your alchemistically inclined enemy.”

“Any luck? Finding them dead would be best, but barring that…”

“I’ve managed to narrow it down somewhat. I haven't had any luck tracing the magical side with those nasty spells they seem so fond of, but I have a couple of pretty strong leads on the alchemical side. I’m waiting to hear back from a supplier friend in Markham who just might have a name.” She took a swallow of beer, looking deservedly pleased with herself.

“That’s wonderful,” I said. “I’d love to be able to go after them for once.”

“Any sign of them since you got back?”

I gave a bark of laughter. “So far I’ve been in town for an entire hour with nothing happening. Does that count?”

“Let’s hope it’s a sign. Did you accomplish what you’d set out to do up there?”

I nodded, telling her bits and pieces I thought she’d find interesting and I could talk about. It occurred to me that I had perhaps the perfect person in front of me to ask about one thing I’d been wondering: Editing heavily for Dorian’s sake, I told her about Vel Docilus, asking her if she’d ever heard of such a creature before.

She shook her head, eyes bright with interest. “You’re sure it was no Fade demon?”

“Believe me, I’ve seen every type of damn Fade demon there is and I’ve physically been there twice — although the first time all I really remember is waking up and running away from things. That thing had nothing to do with the Fade,” I assured her.

“It sounds like an…inefficient manner of survival,” she frowned. “It’s hardly unnoticeable, and from what you say, it doesn’t even absorb a complete knowledge of its victims’ personality and behaviours.”

“Maybe it didn’t originally feed off humanoids,” I suggested. “Something may have killed off its natural prey. As long as it sticks to places where people don’t tend to run about half-dressed, it can hide itself fairly easily, and it could primarily pick loners who don’t know many people well to begin with.”

“All valid points, though that means it blew it with that Docilus fellow given he had a wife and children." 

"It may not have realized. He was in some backwater corner of nowhere when it took him," I theorized.

"I just don’t like that I’ve never heard of the thing before," she said. "Well, now you’ve set out a new mystery for me. _Someone_ must know something about them.” She smiled a hunter’s smile, and I had no doubt if there was any information about the creature out there, she’d find it.

She caught me up on some of the local goings-on and what news had come out of Ferelden and Orlais lately; I concluded I hadn’t missed much. “So are you here for a while now?” she asked.

I looked down at Swivet, who appeared to be asleep, and took a slow drink of beer. “I suppose I am.”

“That was the least confident, unhappiest thing I’ve heard out of you,” she said. “Is there a problem?”

“It’s complicated,” I said, suddenly feeling tired. “Long, boring story. The short answer is I’m down here at least long enough to take care of some things I need to take care of and I’ll be heading north again at some point. Beyond that I really don’t know. The world might end before I decide what I’m going to do regardless.”

“ _Is that hyperbole_ she asked,” Mikal said.

“Unfortunately, no.” I saw no reason not to tell her about Solas/Fen’Harel and his mad, narcissistic plans; we’d tried to tell the so-called world leaders with very little effect, so maybe a few more normal people would help the cause. When I finished she looked decidedly angry.

“Andraste’s tits! I remember Sera saying something about that over a year ago, but I wasn’t paying much attention, thought she must be exaggerating. And this is supposed to happen when?”

I shrugged. “Any time within the next year if you can believe anything he said. We have people moving against him. I could put you in touch with them if you’d like.”

“I’d like very much. What is it about this world that we can’t seem to go more than a few decades at most without some lunatic trying to destroy everything?” she growled.

“I wish I knew,” I said. “I’ve had to stay well out of the centre of it all because he knows me and the others from the Inquisition’s so-called inner circle too well and I’ve got an additional possible liability because of something I did in an ancient elven temple.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. Suffice to say there is a slight possibility that I could involuntarily be made to act against our own side, so they’d rather not have me in a position where I could do any damage.”

She looked at me measuringly. “Kai, with all due respect, is there any part of your life that _isn’t_ complicated?”

I stroked Swivet’s velvety skin absently as I looked down at my nug. “Him,” I told her, “that’s about it. Then you wonder why I have a tendency to drink too much at times.”

“No family you could turn to?”

“Complicated,” I answered. “I suppose my friends here in Hasmal don’t fall into that category, but I don’t like to lay too much on any of you. You all have your own problems and mine are…”

“Complicated,” she finished with a tight smile. “Well, let’s hope things can uncomplicate soon. Do put me in touch with someone about your rogue elven god problem.”

I promised I would. We visited a bit longer, then I said I’d best be going. She had things to do in the morning and I still needed to go to Sera and Dagna’s. She fetched Swivet’s toys and put them in a bag (he’d come wide awake the second I started moving; probably worried I was going to leave him again, I thought guiltily). I thanked her again as I paid her what we'd agreed on and left, Swivet following happily at my heels.

I dropped off Swivet's bag at my house (without getting attacked!) and we walked to Sera and Dagna's. At my knock, Dagna answered the door with a distracted smile. "Welcome back! Um. Do you think you could come back tomorrow? Sera's in a bit of a state right now," she said apologetically.

"Anything serious?" I asked. I could hear Sera shouting in the background, though the only words I could catch all seemed to be swear words.

"Well… yes and no," she replied. "We can fill you in tomorrow."

"Of course. I'll come by in the afternoon if that would work for you."

She nodded. "That would be great. Thanks for understanding."

I said good night and we headed home. "What do you suppose that's about?" I asked Swivet. He didn't know. Halfway there, I realized I hadn't thought to get any food and there was nothing worth mentioning in the house, so I stopped at my usual pub for dinner, making a mental note to restock the next day. Once I finished, I bought a few things to get by on when I got up and some beer for the night. At my front door I scanned the area carefully, both visually and magically, but couldn't see a thing out of place. I allowed myself the momentary hope that whoever had been after me had dropped dead or gone home, but told myself firmly that the universe would not be that kind to me. At least I seemed to be in the clear for the night. We went inside to get reacquainted with my house.

For a while I was busy putting things away and going through my belongings; I actually found the odd item I'd forgotten I owned. Then Swivet wanted me to play. His stuffed cat was looking a little worse for the wear, prompting me to cast a little clean-up spell on it, which reminded me of poor Vel Docilus. I really hoped Mikal would be able to find out something about the creature we'd encountered. Once my nug was satisfied I'd paid him enough attention, I busied myself doing practical things like adding water to my icebox and freezing it in preparation for the perishables I intended to buy ( _Positive things they never tell you about being a mage #24: You never have to hire an iceman to supply your icebox_ ). Unfortunately, after a few hours I'd run out of things to do. I felt both tired and edgy, which made it impossible to concentrate on something like reading and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do. It was a problem I hadn't encountered up in Minrathous. There was almost always some sort of entertainment going on in the city, even though we didn't go to them all that frequently, and even if we were doing different things, Dorian had usually been there to talk with. Swivet's a wonderful fellow, but conversationally he's somewhat lacking.

I roamed the house, drinking and racking my mind for something to do. I went into the eluvian room and the big mirror awoke immediately, but it was useless unless I decided to throw caution to the winds and step through, and I wasn't that desperate. I relocked the door and returned to the living room, throwing myself on the couch and wondering if it was too early to activate the sending crystal. I amused myself making intricate little shapes out of fire while I thought about what to do; I was particularly pleased with the little dragon I'd managed to fashion. Not only did it look like a proper dragon, but I'd managed to animate it breathing a little fireball. _Not that most people in the south would appreciate it,_ I thought uncharitably, _it'd probably just bloody scare them. Wankers._ I wondered if I was developing an attitude and decided I didn't much care at the moment. I tried making a fire-nug, but it just came out looking like a fat rabbit. I considered having myself a wank out of sheer boredom, but decided all that would do was accentuate the fact that I was bored and very alone, so I drank more instead. I dug a deck of cards out of the end table next to the couch and played a few thrilling hands of Solitaire, which made me think of playing games with Dorian, which led the baser part of my mind to opine that boredom wanks weren't necessarily bad, so I drank more to shut myself up. I couldn't even think of anywhere to go; the only places still open were mostly dedicated to drinking and I was already doing that.

I had just decided to take the chance on activating the sending crystal when I heard its distinctive chime. I quickly removed it from its container and activated it, saying, "Dorian?"

"That was fast. Have you been watching your crystal eagerly, counting the minutes until you hear my velvety tones again?"

"No, but I was just about to try you," I admitted. "I'm back in Hasmal and so far no one's tried to kill, maim or otherwise interfere with me."

"Well that's encouraging. I suppose it's too much to hope your adversary packed up their poisoned toys and went home," he said cheerfully.

"I'm not counting on it. How are you? Anything happening up there?"

"It's gotten very quiet lately. One of our greatest opponents has had a spot of bad luck; he misplaced some of his private papers and they turned up mixed in with a stack of correspondence delivered to the Archon. Apparently they were a bit on the embarrassing side." He sounded positively gleeful.

"Funny how that happens," I said lazily. "Give Kaeso my regards. How've _you_ been?"

"Oh, you know me, always in a mad dash from one fabulous social engagement to another, trailing scarves and hatpins behind me like luxury confetti."

"Lucky you," I said around a swallow of beer.

"I know what that tone means," he chided me. "How could I possibly have done something to make you cross already?"

"You didn't. I'm just bored and I miss you so I'm feeling sorry for myself," I said.

"I miss you too, amatus, but how can you be bored _already_?"

I told him and we talked until I wasn't bored any more. By the time we wrapped things up I was just tired, so I went up to bed, Swivet following. I knew I shouldn't since I was breaking my own rule, but I let him sleep on the bed, rationalizing that that night was different because I'd been gone so long. At least my bed still felt remarkably comfortable.


	54. Give the Man a Hand

Fortified with coffee, I looked around my place the next afternoon assessing what I needed to buy while I was out. That is, once I found out what in the world Sera was so upset about. I stuck the prosthesis in a canvas bag and slung it over one shoulder. Swivet dashed up to me squeaking urgently. I was about to tell him to be a good nug and stay, but guilt at how long I’d been gone got to me and I ended up allowing him to accompany me. He’d have to wait at home while I shopped, but I didn’t see any harm in his visiting Sera and Dagna’s. Once again, when we stepped outside I scanned carefully for threats of any kind and once again, there was nothing. I didn’t know whether to feel pleased or anxious about that, so I settled for cautious optimism.

It was too warm to wear my coat, the first really summerlike day I'd been around for that year. I picked up a few items at the bakery, putting them in the bag next to my old arm. As we walked to Sera and Dagna's I was reminded that I actually like Hasmal quite a bit. It's large enough to feel more like a city, but doesn't have as many of the big city problems. There was a steady stream of escaped slaves that mostly kept heading south, Hasmal being too close to the Tevinter border for comfort, and the occasional slaver pushing his luck by crossing into the Free Marches, along with the usual contingent of thieves, con artists and thugs one finds in any settlement, but there was no slavery and no alienage — both strong points in Hasmal's favour. 

We reached Sera's without incident. She answered the door, saying, "Here's you now; about time." As I entered, she smacked me in the chest. "Took you long enough to get back, you bugger." She ruffled the top of Swivet's head and spun around to go to the kitchen.

"Why am I in trouble?" I asked as I followed her.

"Because you should've _been_ here," she groused as she perched on a stool at the big worktable. I heard thudding on the back staircase and the next moment Dagna entered the kitchen. 

I set my canvas bag on the table. "Hey Dagna. _Why_ should I have been here? What's happened?" I demanded as I pulled up a stool.

"Do you know where I've _been_? Widdle, tell him where I've been."

"She's been in jail," Dagna said. "Coffee, Kai?"

"Please. Jail? What were you doing in jail? Is it because of that thing you're planning with Matze?"

"NO. It was for something I didn't _bloody_ do but some sodding _nug-fucker_ decided I _must've_ and because it was some posh, _highborn_ nug-fucker, the city watch came here and _arrested me_! _Wankers!_ " She banged her fist on the tabletop and made a noise of incoherent rage.

"When did all this happen? How long were you in for?" I asked as I fished my bakery box out of my bag.

"Earlier this week and three bloody _days_ ," Sera said.

"We'd just gotten her out when you came by last night," Dagna explained from beside the stove where she was waiting for the water to heat.

"Ah. I understand now." I opened the box of pastries and put them in the centre of the table where everyone could reach them, fishing a cookie out to slip to Swivet and grabbing a frosted cinnamon bun for myself. "So what happened that they blamed you for?"

"It's all those pranks, ennit," Sera said. "There's been two more since you went running off to the evil empire again. The first one really took the biscuit — the cheeky bugger somehow snuck into Lord and Lady Riegert's atrium and dyed the water in their reflecting pool red. 'Course, all their decorative fish ended up red too."

"Red again," I observed, waiting to eat anything until I got my coffee. 

"Yeah, so everyone's all _haha too bad it wasn't the Friends of Red Jenny, we should've thought of that ourselves_ and it’s all just the dog's bollocks and then four days ago the stupid wanker pranked again only this time it all goes tits up, doesn't it." She took a bite of a turnover, declared it delicious and continued, "This time it was Lady Pettit and her mother. They'd gone out for a ride — they live in that daft castley-looking thing if you're heading towards Tantervale — and they were going through that big arched bit with the spiky death gate-"

"The portcullis," I provided, thanking Dagna as she handed me a coffee.

"Yeah, that," Sera said dismissively. "Anyways, right when they're riding underneath the portcullis it makes this _awful_ screaming metal noise even though it's been stuck open for for _ever_ and everyone's all panicking but instead a stonking great cloud of red powder sploofs down and covers them and their horses and everything else it hits in dye. _Which_ is bloody funny, but the old bat's horse spooked and tossed her on her big, poncey arse and she landed bad and broke her bloody _hip_ and got all bruised to shite. So the daughter goes absolutely stark raving bonkers and in-bloody- _sists_ it's me and the Jennys did it."

"I take it she may have had a run-in or two with the Jennys?" I asked.

"Hah. If you've got the bad luck to be one of her servants you'd be wanting our services too, yeah?" Sera sneered. "Right bloody wyvern's arse, she is. But she goes down to the Watch screaming bloody murder that they need to arrest _me_ for trying to murder her mum, and they're such a load of weak nellies they _do_!"

"Ademar and I went down and had a talk with them. They didn't really think Sera did it, but it shut Lady Pettit up temporarily. It took us a bit to get proof that there was no way Sera could have gone all the way out to her estate and be here where everyone saw her at the same time," Dagna said cheerfully.

"Hunh. I have two questions," I said. "First, what in the world was _I_ supposed to be able to do about it?"

Sera looked at me like I was an idiot. "You're a mage. From what you and everyone else says, you're one of those _ooooh, scary powerful_ mages on top of it. The pranks all seem to've involved _magic_. So you should be here _catching_ whoever's doing it."

I blinked at her, baffled at her reasoning. "How am I supposed to catch them?"

"With _magic_ , Harold," she said with exaggerated patience.

" _What_ magic? You know, it's not like I'm magnetically drawn to any magic that happens in a ten mile radius of me." I took a bite of cinnamon bun.

"Yeah, what about all the times I've heard you lot walk into some place and you're all _Ah! There has been magic used here. It was a great spell some twat cast twelve hundred years ago and seemed to have something to do with rice,"_ she demanded, nailing the vocal inflections of Solas just about perfectly.

"There's a big difference between being able to tell someone cast a big spell and being able to _trace_ someone who cast a _small_ spell," I tried to explain.

She glared at me, her face set stubbornly. "So you won't even _try_ to find this wanker?"

"I didn't say that," I protested even as I realized I'd just roped myself into doing exactly what she wanted me to do, "I just said I wouldn't necessarily have any more luck finding them than the City Watch."

"Yes you would. I know you," she stated firmly, "and the City Watch couldn't find their own nightsticks if they were jammed up their bums. What’s your second question?"

I'd nearly forgotten it in the process of being drafted. "Oh. Um…right. Just this: How did Lady Pettit know you're a Friend of Red Jenny, let alone that you'd be the one to arrest?"

She gaped at me. "Andraste's bloody ball sack, I didn't even think of that. How _did_ she?"

"It sounds like someone's been trying to frame you," Dagna said. "This suddenly got a lot scarier."

" _Shite_. Someone's begging for arrows," Sera said angrily. "Kai, we've got to catch this bugger. _Please_ help?"

"Of course I will," I promised, hearing the slight tinge of worry under the anger. "I'm just not sure how much use I'll be."

She gave me a sudden grin. "Hey, we killed a god. How hard could this be?" 

"Oh, speaking of hard," I pulled the prosthesis out of the bag, ignoring Sera's snicker, and said to Dagna, "is there any way you could deactivate the appearance rune in this thing? I buggered it up to the point where it's essentially unwearable and I'm curious how bad it looks."

She took it from me, saying, "Do I dare ask how you buggered it up?"

"Used it to cave in the skull of a Qunari raider who was trying to kill me at the time.".

"That's…actually about what I figured." She picked up a small, thin tool from the workbench and did something at the top of the prosthesis where it fit to my arm, then used a longer tool to do something deeper within it. Suddenly the illusion surrounding the arm disappeared and we all stared at the sad, battered arm-shaped hunk of wood that appeared in its place. Sera laughed. Dagna said, "No wonder you have trouble wearing it now," and handed it to me for closer inspection.

The thing was dented everywhere and cracking in a few different spots. It was discoloured, both from old blood and probably from the cavalier treatment I'd been affording it of late. The part my arm fit into was also warped and I could see that no amount of sanding would have saved it. "Well…I certainly got my money's worth out of it," I said philosophically. "I think it's earned retirement now."

"If you feel like waiting here a bit, I think we can give you something to soften the blow of losing your loyal friend and Qunari-killer," Dagna said with a grin.

"I'll camp in your living room if that's what it takes," I said.

"Charming as your company is, that won't be necessary," she replied. "Ademar should be over pretty soon. We told him you were back this morning, so he's been making some fine adjustments to it. There still might be a little tweaking to do over the next few days once you start wearing it, but we're both confident it's ready."

"Have I mentioned lately how much I adore you?"

"Feel free to whenever you get the urge," she said with another smile. "So what _about_ you? Aside from beating Qunari raiders, how did it go?"

I gave them a condensed version of my latest trip. They were a good audience and actually seemed interested in everything. When I finished, Sera looked at me appraisingly. “You _like_ it there,” she said, making it sound like an accusation.

“Well, yes, I suppose I do,” I answered. “There’s a lot to like.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Kai. They have _slaves._ ”

“Yes, I know that,” I said, giving her a similar look back.

“So _slavery_ is _bad_ ,” she intoned.

“Why does everyone assume if you have any positive thoughts whatsoever about Tevinter you must endorse slavery?” I demanded. “I agree slavery is bad. I also like many aspects of Tevinter.”

“But you’re walking around in the middle of _slaves_ going ‘well _I’m_ having a lovely time’,” she objected.

“For one thing, there are _slaves_ there doing that too,” I replied, “Dorian also does not have slaves and the Lucerni are working towards abolishing slavery, which is a lot more constructive than just bitching about it. And might I point out that down here there are _alienages_ that are every bit as nasty and inhumane as anything in Tevinter?” 

“But at least they’re not slaves,” she said stubbornly.

“How lovely for them,” I said sarcastically. "I'm sure they appreciate that they're free to live in poverty and be discriminated against in any city in the south they choose. I'm not saying Tevinter's better, mind you. I'm just saying both systems are fucked and need fixing." 

"Yeah, but making people slaves is more fucked," Sera reiterated.

“And Tevinter's the only country that has institutional discrimination against people," I scoffed, continuing in mock surprise, "Oh! Wait! Let's not forget that the _lovely_ freedom-loving people down here locked me in a fucking _prison_ for what was supposed to be for the rest of my _life,_ but they only managed to steal eighteen _years_ from me when the only so-called _crime_ I committed was being born with a talent that needs some specialized training to keep everyone safe. But I suppose you’re okay with that because mages are _scary_?” I knew I was getting loud, but I didn't really care. I’m not sure why, but the older I get I find myself getting more angry about being locked up like that, not less.

Sera looked down at the tabletop, a stormy expression on her face. Dagna spoke up, smiling a desperately cheerful smile. “Hey, guys, let’s just calm down and change the subject, okay? We’re all friends here, remember?”

I nodded my head but didn’t quite trust myself to speak yet. It was taking everything I had to keep sitting at the table when what I really wanted to do was leave until I could calm down. Sera said, “Yeah, okay. But he didn’t have to bite my head off.”

"…sorry," I muttered. I wasn't really, but I was trying to do my part to make peace. I suspect Sera was feeling much the same. I'm not sure how long the awkward silence would have continued, but we were saved by a thunderous knock at the door. Dagna practically leapt from her chair as she went to answer it. Sera and I looked at each other and I tried a small, wry smile. She responded with one that was equally small and wry. Neither of us had really backed down, but we'd always butted heads on some subjects and probably always would.

"Arse," she said.

"Stubborn elf," I said back.

We heard voices in the living room and moments later Dagna re-entered the kitchen followed by Ademar, who was carrying a heavy canvas bag, and Swivet, who was following Ademar like they were long-lost best friends. "What ho, 'tis true, the itinerant wanderer has returned!" Ademar said heartily. Ademar is one of the only people I know who sounds perfectly natural saying things like that. "I thought we may have lost you to the dark side for good this time, what with the tribulations you've been experiencing here in fair Hasmal." He pulled a stool up to the worktable, setting the bag down carefully.

"Hello, Ademar," I said, "No such luck; I suppose I'm just a glutton for punishment."

Swivet was bouncing around the base of Ademar's stool making little impatient trills until the dwarf finally relented, pulling some sort of treat out of one of the pouches affixed to his belt and handing it to my nug, saying, "There, you greedy bugger, now calm yourself." He looked up at me with an exasperated smile. "Gave one of these to him _once_ and ever since he harasses me mercilessly until I donate another to his selfish cause."

"You could tell him no," I suggested.

"Ah, but then rather than being all-powerful and benevolent I would be a cruel and merciless betrayer in his limited world. I must admit I'm a sucker for shameless adoration," he grinned.

"If that's what I think is in that bag, you may get another sycophant," I told him.

"I note that you've abandoned the previous model," he said.

Dagna picked it up off the table and handed it to him. "It had a run-in with a Qunari and came out the worse for it," she said.

Ademar looked the poor, battered thing over and said, "I hope for your bank account's sake that you don't intend to make a practice of this."

"I'm going to be optimistic and say it was a one-time thing," I said. "Shall I start bouncing around you now?"

"That won't be necessary," he assured me gravely. "Dagna? Shall we?"

"I think he's waited long enough," she picked up the bag and pulled out the new prosthesis, explaining, "I'll activate the appearance rune last, once we make any final adjustments. Let's see how it works."

I released the attraction spell on my shirt sleeve and pushed it up over my elbow. Dagna handed me the arm, which was still clearly a construct without the illusion rune, but one that could almost fool you at a distance. It had changed a great deal since I last saw it. It was now covered with a protective skin that actually felt like skin. The joints all moved smoothly just like a real hand and wrist and it even felt correct, as though there were muscles and bone underneath the ‘skin’. If it weren't for the appearance and temperature of the thing, I could almost swear I was holding a real arm. 

“It’ll heat up to your body temperature once it’s on and powered up,” Dagna told me.

“Powered up?”

“Remember? We told you your own energy would power it?”

I nodded as I set the prosthesis on what remained of my forearm. Even though I was expecting it, it still made me jump slightly when it wrapped itself onto my arm. When the appearance rune was activated you wouldn’t be able to tell at all where the real arm ended and the fake one began. Even now it looked nearly seamless. I thought about moving the hand and nothing happened. “It’s not doing anything,” I said, unable to take my eyes off it.

“You’ll have to give it a moment to wake up and recognize you,” Ademar explained. “We made significant changes since you last tried it on.”

“So this won’t work for anyone else. Like, no mage could take it over and make me murder someone or kill myself, right?” I asked.

“That is correct, _Serah_ ,” Ademar assured me. “That is why we requested you spill so much blood for the cause. It is keyed solely to you.”

“Good.” I tried moving the hand again and was rewarded with a slight twitch. “I think it’s starting to wake up. Will it take this long every time?”

“It shouldn’t,” Dagna said. “It’s just the first time it needs to do some initialization. Once you’ve been wearing it regularly and we’ve got the bugs stamped out, it should be useable as soon as you put it on.”

"I may simply not take it off." I concentrated and the fingers moved a bit.

"Do that and you're asking for trouble," Ademar admonished me. "You've got to let the real skin breathe now and then. I'd recommend taking it off for a few hours at least every few days, preferably every night when you go to bed."

I felt a sensation that was almost electrical in nature run up my arm and a moment later I was able to move the fingers and thumb so they were touching. "Fuck me, it's starting to really work," I murmured. The next several minutes were fascinating, at least to me, as the arm aligned itself more to me (or whatever it did as the connection that enabled it to 'listen' to me improved) and I was able to start making it move naturally. It was strange, as I couldn't feel it at all. I had to watch carefully to see if it was doing what I wanted it to do and I could see what Ademar meant about it taking time to learn how to judge the amount of pressure I was exerting. But for the first time in over a year I had a functioning left hand and that was worth any amount of extra effort I might need to put into mastering its use.

Dagna and Ademar were looking like a couple of proud parents as I became more adept at telling the hand and wrist what to do. "This is wonderful," I told them both, "You have no idea how much this means to me." I had to stop then because I actually started choking up a bit. They both beamed as I got myself under control and continued, "If I had any say in it, you'd both be named paragons. This is brilliant."

"I'd still like to be able to get it to talk back to you," Dagna said. "Right now it's all one-way. If I could just figure out the right runic configuration, you'd be able to actually feel it more or less like a real limb."

"Probably less," Ademar said. "You're talking about a complex system. But we might be able to aim for him to feel rudimentary pressure and temperature changes."

I grinned at them. "Hopefully those features will make it into the next model. At the moment I'm thrilled with this. You've both outdone yourselves."

"We have, at that," Ademar smiled benevolently. "Keep it on for the next few days and make a list of anything that seems a bit off. It's undoubtedly going to need adjustments before we can declare it finished and turn the appearance rune on."

"We _might_ need one more blood donation," Dagna added. "Pay extra attention to any times it might seem like it's not listening to you and make notes."

I nodded absently as I tried moving each finger individually. I could see fine, precise movements were going to take some time to master. I wondered how long it would take until I could write with my left hand again. One potential advantage I could see was that hand would never get tired. I wondered if it would lose its grip if I stopped thinking about gripping a thing for a moment.

"I think we've lost him," Sera said and snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Hey! Kai!"

"Sorry." I smiled. "I think I'm going to be preoccupied for a while."

"You're still going to help me find the wanker who framed me, right?"

"Of course." I looked at her pleadingly. "Could we start tomorrow? Otherwise I'm not going to be able to concentrate properly."

She rolled her eyes, but grinned, "All right, tomorrow. Anyone can see all you'd do today is float off. Go play with your new hand then."

"Would you mind?" I asked them. "I'd like to spend some time checking it out on my own."

"Go," Dagna said, making shooing motions at me. "We'll see you tomorrow afternoon?"

"With notes," Ademar interjected.

"With notes," I promised. "Thank you again." I tossed the old arm back in the canvas bag, called my nug and set out for home. Once again nothing attacked me and there were no nasty little surprises waiting for me. I told myself my enemy could be biding their time, but a part of me was really hoping they'd just given up and gone away. I got my shopping done as quickly as possible, grabbed dinner at the pub near my house and spent the rest of the night learning the intricacies of operating my new hand.


	55. Trevelyan, P.I.

The next afternoon I arrived at Sera and Dagna’s to find Ademar already there. “You should get more of those sending crystals,” Sera announced as I pulled a stool up to the worktable. “It’s just aces that you and Dorian can talk all the time, but it’d make things easier if _we_ could talk to you without having to go slogging to each other’s houses all the time.”

“I’ve said for years they should figure out how to make them widely available,” I agreed, then to Dagna and Ademar, “I’ve brought notes.”

“Not too voluminous, I hope,” Ademar said.

“Not really. Sera, mind if I do this before we get started?”

She shrugged. “Figured you would. Carry on.”

“Right. Thank you.” I brought out my list. “The third finger doesn’t bend quite right. It seems to have a bit of a lag to it; When I tried to do anything too precise like writing, the whole hand gets a really annoying tremor that makes it nearly impossible; When I’m not paying attention to it, it seems to want to make a fist, which really isn’t the ideal default position; and last but not least, when I move the wrist to the left it makes a clicking noise.”

Ademar nodded thoughtfully as Dagna said, “Huh. Not bad! I mean, considering this is the first chance we’ve had to try it out on you. Sounds like we’re about evenly split, Ad.”

“It does indeed, though I suspect a great deal of it will overlap,” he said. “Can we persuade you to part with it again temporarily?” he asked me.

I sighed sadly. “Since it’s to fix bugs, of course. It’s not going to be another week or more, is it?”

“More like two to three days, tops,” Dagna assured me as I removed the arm (struggling just a little to remember how). She took it from me and added, “Um. I do need more blood. That’s probably why you’re getting the tremor. Or part of the reason anyway. The sooner I can get on this, the better.”

So once again I offered up my right arm, Dagna pierced a vein and I bled until she declared she had enough. I cast a quick healing spell as Dagna and Ademar worked over the arm, removing the rune that was apparently underpowered and letting it drink up my blood. I drank some coffee and ate a chocolate covered pastry, finding it vaguely amusing how cheerfully ghoulish the scene looked.

“So can we talk about the evil shite that got me thrown in jail now?” Sera asked.

I pulled my attention away from my new arm, folding up my shirt sleeve and casting the attraction spell so it stayed in place. “Of course, Sera. I can’t do anything about the arm for a bit now anyway.”

“So where do we start? Can you trace the spell if we go look where it happened?”

“It’s doubtful. As I told you, I can’t trace individual spells. I do have an idea where to start, though,” I said.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” She leapt off her stool. “Do you think I’ll need my bow?”

“Not yet,” I stood up a bit more slowly, mindful of the fact that I’d just lost a good amount of blood. “First we just need to talk to a few people.”

“Fine, but this better end in arrows,” she pronounced.

We left her house and walked through the northwest quarter, which was bustling with people at that time of the afternoon. It was another summerlike day and Sera’s mood lifted until she saw where I was leading us. “Watch headquarters? Are you daft? What bloody use are they gonna be? You do know they’re the ones who arrested me!” 

“Well something or some _one_ got them to arrest you,” I pointed out, “so why not ask them? I -uh- think it would be better if I went in alone.”

She scowled, “Don’t want to be seen with the criminal?”

“Don’t be silly. I just think I can get more cooperation if I play the Nobility card.”

“Well…all right,” she relented. “But I think this whole thing is shite.”

I smiled. “I’m well aware of that. Now wish me luck.”

She gave me a twitch of a smile back. “Luck. And if they don’t want to help you should go all magey on their arses.”

I entered the building. Directly in front of me was a large desk with a heavyset Watch sergeant seated behind it. To my left the room opened up into a receiving area with a row of shabby wooden chairs along one wall. A closed door led deeper into the building at the far end. The sergeant looked at me boredly and said, “State your business.”

I put on my best highborn accent and attitude. “I wish to speak with the Watch captain. My name is Comte Trevelyan and it concerns a matter of some importance.”

“Oh, does it now?” He didn’t seem particularly impressed. “And what matter might that be?”

“A colleague of mine was incarcerated here on false charges. I am investigating the matter to see if we should demand redress, and if so, from whom.”

He looked me up and down. “You don’t look much like a Comte.”

I permitted myself a slight sneer. “Oh? And what, in your vast experience, does a Comte look like?”

I could practically see him running through retorts and rejecting them on the off-chance I was telling the truth. “I suppose I couldn’t say.”

“Then why don’t you send me on to your captain? If I’m prevaricating, I’m sure he or she will allow you the pleasure of ejecting me from your station.” I gave him a hard smile.

“One moment, Comte,” he said blandly and pulled a heavy cord just behind him. I heard a bell ring somewhere deeper within the building and moments later a junior Watch member emerged from the doorway at the back. “Tell Captain Esham _Comte_ Trevalyan is here for her on a matter of some urgency,” he told her.

“That’s Trev _e_ lyan,” I called after her as she disappeared back through the door. I gave the sergeant a withering look; he gave me a bland smile back. Soon the Watch woman came back through the door and told me the captain would see me. I gave the sergeant a smug smirk.

She led me to a door stenciled with the legend ‘Captain Esham’. The office I entered was comfortable, though not spacious, the majority of it taken up by a large ironwood desk. Seated behind it was a woman in her forties with short brown hair and dark, intelligent eyes. She reminded me a bit of Cassandra, perhaps more in her bearing than her actual looks. She indicated I should sit and looked me up and down. “Well, well, Kai Trevelyan in my office. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know me?”

Her lips quirked in a slight smile. “I wouldn’t be much of a Watch Captain if I wasn’t aware of the more colorful denizens of our fair city.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Colourful? I’ve most often been criticized for being far too monochrome.”

“And a sense of humor too. As you’ve never shown any inclination to come in for a bit of a chat with your local constabulary before, might I hazard a guess that you’re here concerning the recent arrest of an elf name of Sera, no last name unless ‘ _sod off you gormless arse’_ is it?” She looked at me with polite interest.

I laughed. “Yes, that would be the reason. From what I’ve been told, the Watch knew she hadn’t done anything, but arrested her regardless and kept her here for days, all at the demand of a noblewoman who got it into her head that Sera was responsible for some accident she had.”

She grimaced. “Nobility in these parts can be very demanding, _Comte_ , and it’s been made clear to us that we disregard their demands only at great risk to small things like our operating budget and continued employment.”

“I’m sorry about playing the Comte card, but your desk sergeant was looking distinctly unimpressed with me,” I said. “I didn’t know you already knew who I am.”

“ _Are_ you a comte?”

I nodded. “Courtesy of the Viscount of Kirkwall, who happens to be a friend.”

“Varric Tethras?”

“Correct. Is there anyone you don’t know?”

“Part of my job is to be well-informed,” she smiled thinly, “and I make an effort to excel at my job.”

“Clearly,” I said. “I’ll get to the point. I’m wondering on what evidence the lady pinned this on Sera?”

“In this particular instance, I don’t think I’d be compromising anything if I show you,” she said, sliding her chair back and rising. “Follow me.”

I followed her down the hall and a set of stairs to another hallway. Passing a few rooms, we entered one that was filled with shelves of boxes and rows of file cabinets, all overseen by a dark-haired elven man. He straightened to attention upon seeing the Captain. “Jos, get me the Pettit file, would you,” she said. He nodded and went to one of the file cabinets, pulling out a thin folder for her.

“Filed away already?” I said.

“We have a member investigating the so-called pranks that have been occurring, but I think you’ll see why this isn’t considered incendiary evidence.” She handed me the folder. I opened it to find a single sheet of raggedly cut paper. Someone had scrawled in wax marker on it: _Enjoy washing this out of yor hair and poncy clothes. Now yor face is red like it shood be with SHAME at how you treat normal peopel. HA HA HA — Sara of the Friends of Red Jenny_. Below the writing was a drawing that I took to be an unflattering rendition of Lady Pettit.

I snorted. “This is her evidence? This isn’t even worthy of being called a frame; it’s just libel. They also spelled her name wrong.”

“I know,” the Captain took the silly thing from me and deposited it back in the file. Jos whisked it away to its cabinet and I followed her back to her office as she continued, “But Lady Pettit isn’t, shall we say, the brightest ember on the campfire. She insisted we arrest the poor girl.”

“Where was it?”

“Oh, someone had nailed it to the front door of her house. I’m not sure which made her more livid: her mother’s injuries or the door’s. Unfortunately, we had to keep your friend a few days to satisfy her that we’d properly investigated. Once her dwarven friends brought proof she couldn’t have done it, we let her go.”

“Do you think it’s the same person playing all these pranks?”

 “What do _you_ think?”

“It seems likely,” I said. “Tell me, if I look into this, would I be interfering with your investigation?”

“Nice of you to ask,” she said sardonically.

“I’d really rather not get on the Watch’s bad side. The thing is, I do have some talents that may lend themselves to finding out who this person is,” I said. I liked the Captain; she seemed both competent and surprisingly sensible.

“If you were just some fool noble who read the _Hard in Hightown_ series and fancied himself an investigator of crimes most foul, I would try very hard to get you to go home and sleep it off, but I know some of your history,” she said. “I will also tell you in confidence that finding out who’s been playing pranks on a few members of the upper crust is not our most urgent priority. Believe it or not, we have many more serious crimes here in Hasmal. If you’d like to look into it, all I ask is you keep us in the loop and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Thank you; I’ll try to adhere to both conditions,” I said. “Would I be able to ask the Watch member who’s been investigating these pranks anything?”

She frowned. “Possibly; let me check with him. He might think you’re stepping on his toes, even though the case has virtually nothing to it.” 

“You wouldn’t be letting me do any of this if it weren’t a nuisance case in the first place.”

“True enough,” she admitted, “I’ll assign him to a meatier case and that should keep him happy. I can tell you what little evidence we’ve gathered.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Right. The perp makes sure to include the color red in each prank, possibly, given this latest one, in an attempt to frame the Friends of Red Jenny. They are either a mage or using some sort of magical device to aid them in their pranks, as evinced by there frequently being no sign of ingress or egress from the sites of their mischief and despite some occasionally large and messy pranks, no one sees or hears them. They most frequently strike mid-week.”

I waited for her to continue and when she didn’t, said, “And that’s it?”

“That’s it. If you think of anything else you want to know, ask for Corporal Billett; I'll let him know you may be by. Good luck to you.”

“Thank you again,” I said, knowing a dismissal when I hear it, “I’ll keep you posted. Perhaps when this is over I’ll stop in for a chat with my local constabulary.”

She quirked a smile and gave me a nod goodbye.

**=#=**

I met Sera outside and gave her a rundown of what I’d learned. She was as angry as you’d expect, and it took a bit to get her to focus on what our next step should be aside from plugging arrows into the perpetrator. I was at a bit of a loss how to begin with so little evidence.

“Go to Lady _I’ve-such-a-fat-arse_ Pettit’s,” Sera said.

“You do remember I told you I can’t trace spells,” I objected.

“So? Maybe there’s something else there. You could at least _look_. It’s not like they’re gonna let _me_ have a boo around,” she said impatiently.

It did seem a logical avenue to pursue, so I parted ways with Sera, got directions to Lady Pettit’s, and rode out to her estate. As estates went, it was fairly small, but the Pettits had tried to compensate by making it more emphatically castle-y than estates with real castles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many turrets in so small an area.

The road to the main house was edged by low stonework walls on either side. At the entrance to the grounds was the infamous scene of the crime, a huge arched gateway with a portcullis equipped with nasty spikes locked in the up position. I got off my horse to have a closer look at it, hoping I’d see something useful, but before I could get started a large, uniformed man rode up and loomed over me threateningly. “You’d better have a good reason to be here, stranger,” he said.

I told him who I was and why I was there. He insisted I follow him up to the house, so I got back on my horse and fell in behind him. The house was a large fieldstone affair that had been done up to resemble a castle in keeping with the estate’s theme. While I waited on the porch (it ran the length of the building and sported a waist-high stone railing with metal spikes erupting through the top at regular intervals), he disappeared into the house. I spent the fifteen minutes they left me there inspecting the door and porch. The nail holes still in the door were much larger than the silly little note warranted. I inspected them magically and to my surprise, got something from them. It wasn’t anything as useful as a signature, but it was a slight… vibration is the best way I can put it. It was a very specific feeling I associated with only one thing: the Fade. I was puzzling over what that could mean when Lady Pettit appeared.

She was an imposing woman in her robust mid-fifties. She frowned up at me, managing to make it feel like she was looking down from some great height. “Winfrey said you wanted to see me. What about?” she said brusquely.

I introduced myself as Comte Trevelyan again. “You may remember me as the former Inquisitor?” I added, “I’m here as a consultant to the Watch to investigate the crime that was committed against you and your mother.”

She sniffed. “Well it’s a relief to see they’ve assigned someone of quality finally. That Watch fellow was entirely too cavalier in his attitude; I nearly reported him. But Comte, they caught the perpetrator; some horrid little elf girl who seems to have a mad vendetta against the gentlefolk of this area.”  

“My Lady, I must inform you that the young lady is innocent,” I said solemnly. “Witnesses have proven she was nowhere near your estate. Whoever did this attempted to make it look as though it was she.”

“That’s nonsense. I have-” she began. I cut her off, leaning in close and dropping my voice so she’d have to put some effort into hearing me.

“My apologies, but it’s quite true. Which means our concern must be that whatever dastard did this to you may return, confident that he’s lulled you into a false sense of security. Maker only knows what he may intend to do next.” I made a show of checking quickly around us, as though someone might be listening.

She paled. “This is unconscionable. I did think it odd that the girl would sign her name to that dreadful note she left, but I put it down to the feeble-mindedness of elves, you understand.”

“Of course,” I nodded, thinking that I now understood why the old bat was already well-known to the Jennys. “So you won’t mind if I have my own look at the site of the crime? We want very much to catch the real perpetrator before he can strike again.” 

“Please do,” she said. “I’ll tell Winfrey you’re allowed free run of the estate, aside from the house itself, of course.”

“Most kind of you,” I said, giving her a shallow bow. “If you don’t mind, then, I shall cease disturbing you and proceed with my investigation.”

“I trust _this_ time there will be results,” she said peevishly and shut the door on me. I devoutly hoped that would be the only conversation I had with her.

I ran my fingertips over those nail holes, putting a little magical charge into them and again got that Fade feeling. I had no idea what that might mean, but it was out of the ordinary. I mounted my horse and went back down to the arched gateway. Days later, I could still see patches of red where the cloud of dye had landed. I got no magical signature off any of them; it was just cheap dye. The top of the arch from which the dye had fallen was a full body-length above my head, which led me to wonder how they’d gotten up there to plant it. I went in search of someone who could provide a ladder and soon returned with ladder and a curious groundskeeper in tow. What I found at the top of the arch was puzzling. I'd expected there to be some mechanism triggered by the ladies' horses passing under or at least evidence of whatever had contained the mass of powdered dye, but there was nothing except that same, weird Fade-y feeling. It felt for all the world  like someone had opened and closed a small rift there, but I couldn't be sure as I'd lost much of my sensitivity to that sort of thing along with the Anchor embedded in my left hand. I asked the groundskeeper if he'd been there when it happened, but he'd only caught the aftermath. I thanked him and headed back to town.

Before meeting Sera, I stopped again at the Watch station. The same heavyset sergeant was still at the front desk, but now he seemed inclined to tolerate me. I asked for Corporal Billett and waited while my message was conveyed by a different junior officer who reappeared to lead me to a different room in the Watch station. This room was large, populated by a collection of smaller, shabbier desks than the Captain's. Some were occupied by Watch members, most were untenanted. The officer pointed me at one of the occupied desks and left. The man I approached was tall and skinny, with short, straw-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He gave me the same look every law enforcement officer everywhere must learn before they let them join the force: a look that said deep down he was sure I was guilty of something. "Corporal Billett?" I said.

He nodded. "Have a seat. Comte Trevelyan, is it?"

I sat in the chair next to his desk. "That's right, though you can dispense with the title. Kai's fine. Thank you for seeing me."

He made a non-committal noise. "The captain said you're looking into the merry prankster case."

"That's right." He looked as unimpressed as I would be in his position. "She said you might be able to give me some background."

"Before I do, may I ask you something?" I nodded. "What makes you think you're qualified? I'm sorry to tell you a title alone isn't going open doors for you."

I smiled cynically. "I only used the title to open the door to the Watch, local politics being what they are."

He snorted. "Point taken. I should say the title won't magically give you investigative skills."   

"I know that. I've done this sort of work before in Orlais and more recently in Tevinter, though the people I've hunted tended to be a sight more dangerous than, as you say, a merry prankster."

"You some kind of slaver?" he said, giving me a hard glare.

 _Andraste's tits, does everyone have to jump to that conclusion?_ "No, of course not." I echoed his look back at him. "Tevinter does get its share of garden-variety murderers and the like, you know. I know how to conduct an investigation, and from what little I've seen of what's gone on here, I might be able to help."

"You have _special_ qualifications, then?" He really didn't want to be convinced. I couldn't blame him.

"Actually, I do. If the Pettit case is any indication, there's something magical being done. I'm a mage. I might be able to see something a non-mage simply can't."

“If you’re a mage, where’s your staff?” he said.

“I don’t use one much anymore,” I held up my left arm. “They’re tricky to use one-handed. Do you want me to do some magic for you?”

“Nah, I suppose I believe you. Guess even magic can’t grow the hand back, eh?”

“I’m afraid not.” That seemed to improve his opinion of me.

He sat up straighter and looked me in the eyes. “All right, Comte-“

“Kai. Please,” I interrupted.

“Kai, then,” he relented, “what is it you want from me?”

“I was hoping you might have a map with the locations of all the pranks.”

“You couldn’t just get yourself a city map?”

“I don’t know precisely where they all happened. You, presumably, do.”

“You do realize the only reason this is considered a case at all is because your fellow nobles have been screaming bloody murder that they’re being victimized,” he said.

“Yes, and the only reason I have anything in common with them is because a friend of mine was in a position to hand me a title as a sort of thank you. I met Lady Pettit today and suspect she deserves quite a bit more than she got,” I replied.

“She is a piece of work,” he said with a shake of his head. “Okay. I'll assume you do know what you’re talking about. I should probably be thanking you for taking this fluff case off my hands.” He opened the voluminous lower drawer of his desk and dug out a file that was much thicker than I’d expected. “There you go and welcome to it. Maps, witness statements, the whole ball of wax. Maker help you if you need to talk to any of the victims.”

I laughed and took the file, thanking him. He waved off my gratitude, advised me not to do anything stupid that would require the Watch to intervene, and I left the station.


	56. Of Cats and Cakes

"What are we supposed to be looking for, then?" Sera looked over my shoulder at the map spread out on the work table.

"A pattern," I said, studying the red x's that indicated a prank.

"What, like an arrow pointing to the wanker's house?" she snorted.

"I don't know. There's always some sort of pattern."

"Except when there isn't. How long does it take to go buy a meat pie? They should be back by now." She walked away from the table to look out the kitchen window. "Why does there _always_ have to be a pattern?"

"Because people are lazy. If they do something once and it works, they tend to keep doing it. They might refine their technique, but there aren't many people who think _well that worked brilliantly, I must do something completely different that might blow up in my face next time_." 

Sera laughed and said, "I think I see them."

"I want to go have a look at these sites," I said, "At least the ones I can get into. Ugh. I'm going to have to talk to some of these twats, that means."

"Is that any way to talk about your fellow nobles?" Sera said sweetly, adding, "You might as well eat something first." Since Dagna and Ademar were literally walking in the door with food, I didn't disagree.

After we finished, I went back to the map. "I've got five sites here, but no particular pattern because every time the prankster went to the homes of their victims. I'm missing something," I complained.

"Have you considered that the Watch may not be aware of every prank that was perpetrated?" Ademar asked.

"Yes, and I've also considered that _I_ may not be aware of all of them," I said.

"What about that one when you got back from Tevinter the time before this?" Dagna suggested. I looked at her blankly. "You remember — you and Sera saw it. The baker by your house?"

"Yeah, I forgot that one," Sera said with a laugh. "You think that was the same person?"

Dagna shrugged. "Everyone has to start somewhere. Maybe that was before they figured out how to break into estates."

"That's a bloody good thought," I said. "I'll check that tomorrow. If you all don't mind, I'm going to take the rest of this file home and read through it now."

"I just want to be there to put an arrow through their evil sodding arse of a face," Sera declared. "You're welcome to do all that researchy stuff. Dunno how you and Dorian stand that sort of shite."

"A great deal of higher-level magic involves piles of researchy stuff. They just never mention that part when they talk about mages; it's all histrionics about how we can turn entire villages into salad toppings with a thought," I said.

Sera wrinkled her nose. "Yech. I'll stick with arrows."

I made it home without being attacked. My wards were untouched, there were no mysterious packages and no one lurking about. I was going to have to take care not to get complacent, I told myself as I closed the front door behind me. Swivet came up to greet me and remind me he was moments away from starvation. Once I'd fed him, I parked myself in my armchair and started going through the contents of the 'merry prankster' file.

Much of it was exactly what I'd expected: angry nobles demanding something be done and a whole lot of people saying they hadn't seen a thing. Despite it being a fluff case, Corporal Billett had done a thorough investigation. His spelling was a little haphazard, but his reports were thoughtful and detailed; I hoped the new case the Captain gave him would be more worthy of his talents. On my first read-through I found nothing, so I decided to change tacks, taking the folder out to the kitchen table, where I could spread its contents out and look at several things at once.

In nearly every case, the prankster had managed to get into locked rooms and fenced, patrolled areas effortlessly. The beheading of Lady Hemmingford's red flowers early on aside, their weapon of choice appeared to be the ubiquitous red paint or dye. Billett had looked into that angle: there were no reports of large quantities of red dye being stolen or purchased lately, so the prankster was either making it themselves or, for all I knew, had inherited a barnfull of it. It was the same story with the red paint for Lord Bothington's monstrous coach; no record of anything unusual, so nothing to trace.

The only thing of interest I found was the statement of one fellow who'd actually been in the next room when Lord Wallingford's ghastly little dogs had been dyed. He hadn't gone to check because he'd heard no indication anything was amiss, but he'd said everything " _felt_ funny, like I was half in a dream but I wasn't sleeping". It dovetailed nicely with that odd, Fade-like feeling I'd gotten from the archway. That man aside, I wasn't looking forward to the prospect of talking to any of the so-called victims, so I decided to start simple the next day and visit my local bakery.

**=#=**

When I entered the bakery, the proprietor (whose name turned out to be Palmiera) greeted me cheerfully. Fortunately there were no other customers so I bought a few things then brought up my real reason for coming in. "I was wondering about something that happened here a while back if you have a moment."

She indicated the empty shop. "I'd say that won't be a problem. What happened?"

"I heard a loud noise and when I went outside to see what it was, some noblewoman covered in what looked like half your kitchen was standing outside the shop yelling at you. I've been wondering what happened ever since."

"Oh, _that_ ," she groaned. "It wasn't anything you need to worry about. Just a freak accident."

"Still, I'd like to hear the story if you don't mind. It might be important." I looked at her entreatingly, hoping the fact that she liked my eyes might sway her. Happily, she gave in with a smile and a shrug.

"I don't see how it could be important, but if you're that interested…"

She told me the noblewoman (Lady Demmler, as Sera said) had come in to approve some bloody great cake she was going to serve at a soiree she was throwing for the cream of Hasmal society. 

"She was picking up her own cake?" I asked.

"No, she was _approving_ it; she was going to send someone else to actually pick it up," Palmiera explained.

She'd brought the cake out of the back, the Lady had declared it lovely, and Palmiera had just gone to fetch a sturdy box for it (that also required approval) when she heard the Lady gasp. She returned to find the cake, "well, _swelling_ is the only way I can describe it," she said. "Like someone stuck a giant balloon in it and decided to overfill it. I don't know why, but we both just stood there watching it. Then all of a sudden, it exploded and every bit landed _right_ on Lady Demmler. But you know what's strange? I mean, aside from it happening in the first place. I swear to Andraste, more goop came out of that cake than should have. There was enough dough and filling to make _five_ cakes landed on her." 

__

"Was there anything red in what came out of the cake?" I asked.

__

"Well, that's funny too. The only red on the cake were some lovely frosting roses I'd put on top, but somehow poor Lady Demmler got pelted with cherry filling I'd been mixing in the back. I just don't understand it, so I decided _Palmiera, you should just put it out of your mind_ and that's what I did."

__

"No one ever came to investigate what happened?"

__

She looked at me quizzically. "No, why would they? It was a _strange_ thing and Lady Demmler was very upset at the time, but she could see I had nothing to do with it. Once she cooled down, she sent a servant back to order some pies."

__

Clearly imagination was not one of Palmiera's strong suits. "Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything that struck you as strange or maybe even frightening? Think hard."

__

She clearly tried, but shook her head. "I can't think of a thing. The whole _thing_ was strange. It was almost like being in a dream. Well, until the cake blew. Then it was just a terrible mess."

__

_Hunh. Another reference to it being dreamlike. Fade-y stuff again?_ A thought occurred to me: "Was there anyone else in the shop when it happened?"

__

She nodded. "A young lady. I remember her because she spent the longest time looking at everything but every time I asked her what she'd like she said she hadn't decided. I think she may have been waiting for me to get distracted so she could steal something."

__

"Can you describe her?"

__

She thought it over; I tried not to look impatient. "Weeellll… she was a skinny little thing. That's one of the reasons I thought she might want to steal something. Kind of a _plain_ girl. Probably why she tried so hard not to be."

__

I waited for her to continue, finally had to prompt her. "What do you mean, she tried hard?"

__

"She was wearing robes, not a normal dress, and they were…I don't know. Looked like they would take you half the morning just to get them layered like she had them with all different colors. And the _hair_. Mousy brown, but it was all braided into patterns. She must spend all her money on hairdressers instead of groceries." 

__

_I'd seen that girl somewhere…_ "Did she ever buy anything?" I asked.

__

Palmiera made a disgusted noise. "No. Somewhere in the middle of all the excitement, she slipped away. Didn't even offer to help poor Lady Demmler. Probably stole something."

__

I thanked her and told her she'd been a great help. She smiled sunnily and gave me a box of spiced venison turnovers because I'm such a good customer. I went home, made coffee and ate turnovers while I racked my brains trying to remember where I'd seen that girl (Swivet was convinced he'd die if I didn't give him a turnover until I let him sniff one; then he gave me a look like I had personally tried to ruin his life, sneezed and left the room).

__

I looked over the file again, searching for mentions of a skinny girl in colorful robes, but I couldn't find a damned thing. She probably had nothing to do with anything, but I couldn't help feeling she did. If the bakery was one of the first pranks, it was where the prankster was more likely to have made mistakes. She could have been hoping to steal something to eat, but she also could have been hanging around to watch the cake blow up. 

__

Swivet interrupted my fruitless efforts, clattering into the kitchen and flopping on the floor with a noise like a badly oiled hinge. "What's wrong with _you_?" I asked. He stood up and squeaked at me. "It's not time to eat," I told him. He squeaked again and did an odd little dance, edging towards the living room. I stood up and he trotted into the living room, stopping and waiting for me with another bossy little squeak. I followed him and he led me to the front door, making a click-trill I'd never heard before. I opened the door. He looked outside, looked up at me and click-trilled again. "Well? Are you going out or not?" I said. He just stood there, looking outside then looking back up at me. Annoyed, I said, "Fine, fuck it, then," and closed the door, heading back towards the kitchen. He made that squeaky hinge noise again, but more exaggerated, and sat in the middle of the living room glaring at me.

__

"Look, I don't know what you want. I do not speak fluent nug," I told him. "Now go play or something. I'm trying to think." He stood up and walked away from me. I swear he picked the parts of the floor with no rugs just so he could clatter his toenails against the hard wood. I shook my head and returned to the kitchen, deciding that Billett was probably secretly thrilled that I'd taken the merry prankster case off his hands because it was full of nothing but dead ends. 

__

I hadn't gotten any further several minutes later when another spate of deliberate clattering announced my nug's approach. I looked over to see he was carrying his stuffed cat in his mouth; I was just about to beg off playing with him when he did something new. Once he saw I'd noticed him he sat, set the stuffed cat down and made that click-trill. He stood, went partway to the front door and back, nosed the cat and looked at me expectantly. I was getting a thought, but, "You couldn’t possibly be that clever, could you?" I said to him. He squeaked, of course. _Well, you'll never know if you don't try._ Slowly I said, "Did you want to see Donnen? Mikal's cat?" I made a cat noise and damned if he didn't make that click-trill and trot back over to the doorway. "You miss him, do you?" _SQUEAK._

__

"I doubt she's home yet, but we'll go there tonight," I told him. He didn't understand, obviously, because he kept pestering me. " _Later,_ " I finally snapped at him, _"_ She's at her _shop_." And that's where I'd seen the girl: at Mikal's shop! She was the girl with the complicated hair who'd been driving Mikal to distraction until I played sleazy noble and chased her off. Well, unless there was more than one skinny girl with complicated hair and robes in Hasmal; for all I knew twenty of them had formed a club. 

__

I spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on errands while Swivet sulked around the house. I dropped by Sera and Dagna's to let them know I might have a lead on the prankster and check on the status of my arm ( _come over tomorrow_ , Dagna said), got my new clothes from the tailor, bought food, paid bills and generally did what responsible adults are supposed to do. There was no answering bird from my Cassandra-raven yet and no one tried to attack me. Everything was so utterly normal it felt almost strange.

__

That evening, thinking for the millionth time that life would be easier if everyone had sending crystals, I walked over to Mikal's with Swivet in tow. Happily, she was home. "He's been sulking all day because he misses Donnen," I told her as we entered, recounting his stunt with the stuffed cat as I really do think that was clever of him.

__

Donnen ambled out to see what was happening, pretending to be vastly uninterested in it all. He and Swivet sniffed each other and, as we took seats in Mikal’s living room, wandered off into the depths of her house. “Does this mean we’ll have to give them regular visits now?” she wondered.

__

“I wish I knew,” I said. “I’m glad you’re home though; I have something to ask you.” I reminded her about the girl with the complicated hair, finishing with, “Do you know who she is?”

__

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “You mean the pest. I’m trying to think if I ever heard her say her name. I usually try to tune her out.”

__

“Does she come into your shop often?”

__

“I try to discourage her, but she shows up every few weeks like a recurring rash,” she said. “Why? She’s certainly not your type.”

__

“She may be the one who’s been pulling the pranks all over the city.”

__

“You mean the one that just tried to frame Sera?” she said, eyes widening. “Well, how about that. If she is, she just elevated herself from nuisance to menace. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember her saying her name, just repeating ad nauseum that she’s a mage.”

__

“Have you ever seen her do any magic?”

__

“Never, but that doesn’t mean much. Most of you don’t around us regular people for obvious reasons.”

__

“Most of us don’t run about shouting ‘I’m a mage!’ either.”

__

"Seems like a lot of you still go in for the robes-and-staff motif, though, which I'm sorry to tell you is a dead giveaway," she said drily.

__

"I disrobed the moment I was allowed and never looked back." I smirked. 

__

"I refuse to react to that comment. Now if you were a woman you could get a good distaff joke out of it too." We both paused for a moment to watch Donnen and Swivet tear through the living room.

__

“Is she due in soon?” I asked, getting back on-topic.

__

Mikal shrugged. “Her appearances are very haphazard. She hasn’t been in for a bit, so it’s possible. But if you don’t hang around the shop all day until she does, I’ve got nothing for you. I’ve no idea where she lives.”

__

“Do you have anything you don’t mind if we break in half?” I asked. I explained the sympathetic alert spell to her as Swivet and Donnen made another pass through. She went into another room and came back with a thin slat of wood with a tassel on one end. It had been amateurishly painted with the phrase _Andraste is love_. “A gift from a niece who barely knows me,” she explained. “My heart will not be broken if it gets broken.”

__

So once again I cast the spell, thinking the entire time that I should just invest in a handful of sending crystals or even learn how to make them. “Just break it when she comes in and the half I have will do the same,” I reiterated.

__

Mikal smiled. “Providing you remember to keep the other half where you’ll notice.”

__

I admitted that was the biggest potential flaw with the plan. We moved on to other subjects after that, playing a few hands of cards while our pets wore themselves out. It turned out to be a pleasant evening. 

__

Once home, I read for a bit then contacted Dorian, who had been busy for much of the day with things relating to Solas that he couldn’t talk to me about. We managed to find enough other things to discuss to fill a good hour or more anyway. Eventually I went to bed, pleasantly surprised that no one had tried to attack me again. I could really get used to that state of affairs.

__


	57. Rearmament

The next afternoon I was back over at Sera and Dagna’s, waiting for Ademar to show up with my arm. I’d stopped by the stables on the way and found a raven from Cassandra telling me her representative would arrive in Hasmal soon for the items from Kaeso Asina. No word on when or where I was supposed to meet them, so I assumed they’d find me. Sera was still fretting about the prankster, not that I blamed her. I’d described the girl with the complicated hair to her, but she couldn’t remember anyone fitting that description, though she announced that she’d “shave her _stupid_ hair off _then_ put an arrow through her eye” once we found her.

“She still might not have anything to do with it, you know,” I cautioned.

“Yeah, right,” Sera snorted. “You know bloody well she does.”

“If she is the one, I just don’t understand why she’d suddenly try to frame you,” Dagna said.

“Congratulations on becoming part of our very exclusive club,” I said to Sera.

“What club?”

“The one for people targeted by vicious bastards for no apparent reason,” I groused.

“Did something else happen?” Dagna asked.

“No, and while it’s been a relief, it worries me,” I said.

Further speculation was abandoned as Ademar arrived. He passed the arm over to me saying, “I believe we’ve satisfactorily addressed the difficulties you were having.”

“I won’t activate the appearance rune until you’ve tested it again,” Dagna added. “You can go ahead and put it on.”

I did as she said, wondering how long it was going to give me a start when it seemed to wrap itself around my arm. This time it started ‘listening’ to me almost immediately as I rotated the wrist. There was no longer any clicking sound, I was pleased to note.

“Try it for another day,” Ademar advised. “If everything seems copacetic, Dagna can activate the appearance rune.”

“I’d still like to work on something so he can feel things even a little,” Dagna mused.

“I’ll gladly pay you both to continue if you’d like,” I said. “I can already shoot lightning, so I’m quite content if you just figure out the feeling problem.”

“I’ll take you up on that if Dagna’s agreeable,” Ademar said. Dagna nodded her agreeableness. “Not to mention, I doubt Lord Trevelyan here is the only individual in Thedas who would appreciate a highly functional replacement limb. I could see this becoming a rather lucrative specialty product.”

Dagna turned a dazzling smile on me. “Especially if he’ll agree to occasionally show potential clients just how functional it is.”

“You know I will,” I said. “If I actually get my left hand back, it’s worth any price you want to set.”

I stayed around long enough to be polite, but only just. Ademar had explained to me that the more I practiced with my hand, the easier fine, precise movements would become as it ‘learned’ how to do them, and I was dying to practice.

Walking home, I practiced broader movements. As Ademar said, the problems I’d encountered the first time were gone: all the fingers moved smoothly and naturally and the hand no longer looked like it was preparing to punch someone whenever I didn’t think about it for a moment. Once I was home I determined that the tremor that had accompanied my last attempts at fine movement was gone and set about practicing. The more precise the movement, the trickier it was because I couldn’t feel what I was doing in the slightest. I had to judge everything by sight and educated guesswork. Picking small things up was just a matter of watching closely and trying to guess how much pressure I was applying and I got fairly good at it within a half an hour. Writing was another matter entirely: after snapping three nibs in a row, I finally had to switch from a pen over to a wax pencil. I was still snapping the thing repeatedly, but at least I could sharpen it and try again. Applying the correct amount of pressure took tremendous concentration; if my mind wandered for even a moment the hand seemed determined to push down and either rip paper or break the tip off the pencil. It took well over an hour before I was able to write one sentence in carefully drawn block letters that bore more resemblance to a child’s scrawl than my own writing. Still, I had no doubt I’d get used to this new state of affairs, and on the plus side, my hand and wrist hadn’t gotten tired.

I spent the rest of the night practicing all the things that used to be second nature to me. It was fascinating, if often frustrating, but as I suspect it would make painfully dry reading, I’ll leave it at that. By the end of the night I was confident I’d be able to use the hand nearly as well as my real one in no time even though all the concentrating had given me a mild headache. I had to severely edit my conversation with Dorian that night so I didn’t bore him to tears going on about it.

**=#=**

I was awakened the next morning by someone pounding on my front door. I hauled myself out of bed and pulled on a pair of trousers quickly, now that I had two hands to do it with, thudding downstairs to find Swivet already there. I readied a couple of spells in case it was some new ploy by my mysteriously absent enemy, but it was just a messenger with a short missive saying Cassandra’s representative would meet me at my house in the afternoon. Obviously she’d told them they were better off arriving later in the day, but the damn morning message rather defeated the purpose. I considered going back to bed, gave the idea up as a dead loss and started my day feeling tired and slightly cross.

Once I’d made coffee and something to eat, I felt a bit better about things and soon became absorbed in learning how to write when I couldn’t feel what my hand was doing. It was far easier than it had been the previous night; my mind remembered very well how it was supposed to work so it was just a matter of figuring out how to judge the pressure I was exerting. Still, it was a bizarre sensation to wrap my mind around; I was actively doing something but could only tell I was visually. It was going to take some time to fully adjust.

Some hours later (during which I’d only stopped practicing long enough to make room for more coffee) I was mildly surprised and annoyed to hear another knock at the door. It took me a moment to remember I was expecting someone. I readied spells again just in case and opened the door. “Leliana? You’re Cassandra’s representative?” I was now surprised and pleased.

“Hello, Kai,” she stepped inside smiling. “Can you think of anyone better qualified to retrieve sensitive material?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied. We went to the living room and I offered to get her something to drink. She opted for water, and as I went to fetch it for her, heard her say, “Is that _Swivet_? Oh my, he’s gotten so _big_.”

I returned with Leliana’s water to find her on her knees on the living room floor fussing over my nug, who was practically levitating with happiness. I wondered if he actually remembered her or if he was just reacting to her enthusiasm at seeing him. “Kai, he looks wonderful; _don’t you_ ,” she added to Swivet, “You must be taking good care of him.”

“With a lot of help from my friends lately, I’ve been gone so much,” I admitted as I set her glass on the coffee table. “He’s a marvelous little fellow; very clever.”

“Clever? Really?” she sat on the couch. Swivet immediately tried to climb up next to her. I took pity on him and gave him a boost before taking my own seat in my armchair. With that prompting I had to tell her some of the clever things he’d done. She was suitably impressed, not to mention pleased with the sterling quality of the nugs she was breeding, so before getting down to business we talked nugs then spent some time catching up with each other. I knew she was deeply involved in the efforts to stop Solas’ mad plans and tried to talk around that as much as possible. Fortunately there were many other worthy topics, and my latest trip to Tevinter segued us naturally into business anyway.

“Did you manage to retrieve everything from Asina?” she asked.

“Well… no. Just a moment.” I went to the eluvian room, got the satchel Kaeso had given to me, and handed it to Leliana. “These should be all the items, or nearly all of them, but he decided to keep the documents.”

She frowned. “Kai, does that not defeat the purpose? Those documents are-“

“Safe, believe it or not,” I interrupted. 

“I don’t see how _you_ can believe it.”

“Because Kaeso is working for Dorian and the Lucerni now.” I outlined quickly how I’d recruited him and Dorian had finalized the deal.

“I see some things never change,” she said with a bemused smile. “Still recruiting people no one else would touch to your side. But how can you possibly trust him?”

“I’ve got a good idea how he thinks,” I said, “And I trust Dorian. He also gave me this as a sort of substitute for the documents.” I handed her the final sheaf of papers. “That’s a list and all pertinent information about the people who hired him to do the job in the first place.”

“How do we know these names are all legitimate?” she said as she skimmed their contents.

“I suppose you don’t at first glance,” I shrugged. “He said there's sufficient proof and that’s what the Chantry’s investigators are for, aren't they? I think you’ll find the majority of them are Nevarran. By the way, I read the documents.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Very damning stuff. Paints as bad a picture as Cass suggested even though it’s a false one. Some or all of the people on that list put a great deal of time and effort into that construct.”

“You do know they didn’t want you reading it,” she said with a slight smile.

“And I care so very much about the desires of the Chantry,” I said flatly. “Kaeso thought we should read it. I agreed.”

She shook her head disbelievingly. “So Dorian read it too?”

“Cass is a friend of his as well. We’re all grown-ups; we’re not going to go tattling the Chantry’s secrets just for shits and giggles. After reading it, I think it’s a good thing we do know what those people were up to.” 

“And the fact that the Chantry didn’t want you to read them didn’t figure into your decision at all?” she said.

I gave her a half-smile. “I didn’t say I was _that_ grown up _._ The point is, the information he gave you should be more than sufficient to take out Cass’s opposition. And they got their toys back too. I think that’s fair.”

“As long as you’re correct about being able to trust Asina, I’ll agree with you,” she said thoughtfully.

“He did say he’d like to know when Nevarran heads start to roll. You know, in case they try to cover that up when it inevitably happens,” I added.

“I’ll send word to Dorian, if that’s satisfactory,” she replied, putting the papers in a small leather case.

“Fine with me,” I said. “Do you have to leave right away, or can you stay for a bit?”

“I won’t be leaving until tomorrow,” she said as she secured everything in a sturdy leather satchel of her own. 

“Then can I invite you to an evening out amidst the bright lights of Hasmal?”

She smiled. “I’d be delighted. I’ve hardly ever gotten to be around you when we weren’t on official business of some sort. In some ways you’re very different from when you were Inquisitor.”

“I’m not the only one who’s different,” I said. “We can lock those in my back room; they’ll be safe there.”

She followed me back, eyes widening when I unlocked the door. “Is that a working eluvian?”

“It’s a project,” I said. “Don’t worry — it’s not hooked up to the network. Solas knows nothing about it.”

“Are you quite sure he and his people cannot access it?” she asked.

“Quite,” I assured her. “At the moment I’m not sure it can access much of anything.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I hope you are right,” she said.

We left the house for Sera and Dagna’s. They were delighted to see Leliana. I took advantage of Sera’s colourful retelling of her arrest and incarceration to pull Dagna aside and tell her the problems I’d encountered with the new arm the first time all seemed to be gone.

“Are there any new ones we should know about?” she asked.

“I haven’t experienced any. Everything seems to be working perfectly. It’s just a matter of getting used to running it without being able to feel what I’m doing.”

“That’s wonderful,” she smiled. “And I’m working on how to get it to talk back to you. I’m afraid Ademar might be right, though. I don’t think I’ll be able to get it to do much more than let you feel a little pressure and maybe some rudimentary changes in temperature.”

“Would you be able to add that to this arm or would it have to be a new one?”

“I could _probably_ add it, but I can’t guarantee that,” she said.

I assured her that was fine and I’d bankroll anything she needed. “I was just wondering, though…” She looked at me expectantly. “Since everything seems to be working so well, do you think you could activate the appearance rune?” I gave her my best hopeful-puppydog look.

She laughed. “Sure, I don’t see why not. If you run into any problems, come see me or Ad though. If you let them go because you like having your hand too much, they could get worse.”

I promised her I would as I removed the arm, trailing after her to the worktable. She put on a pair of spectacles with jewelers magnifiers as lenses, pulled a small section of the ‘skin’ aside, took a long, thin instrument and did something I couldn’t quite see to the arm. There was a tiny flash and a brief odor of ozone and burnt blood. She affixed the skin in its original position and a moment later it looked like she was holding a real forearm. She handed it to me with a wide smile. It was essentially the same illusion as the one on my old, wooden arm, but as I inspected it I realized she’d refined it. With the old arm, if you got _very_ close to it you could see that there was something not quite right about it. This one was perfect. No matter how closely I looked at it, it looked real and like I remembered my left arm and hand looking. I affixed it to the stump of my real arm and was immediately able to turn the wrist and flex the fingers. “Dagna, you are a genius and worker of miracles,” I told her sincerely, “and if you don’t mind, I’d very much like to give you a hug.”

She allowed me, saying, “Are you going to give Ademar one as well?”

I laughed. “I would, but I’m afraid he might hit me.”

“Yeah, he’s not exactly the touchy-feely type,” she said with a grin.

Then I had to go into the living room and show off my new arm, pointing out that not one of them had ever seen my hand in its original form, without the bloody Anchor embedded in it. Dagna said we needed to include Ademar in this, which led to us going out, first to fetch Ademar from his shop, then because Sera and I both insisted, we stopped by Mikal’s shop as she was closing up and fetched her, the lot of us ending up at the pub we frequent in the northwest quarter. I doubt I need to go into detail other than to say a good time was had by all. I did actually hug Ademar at one point; he didn’t hit me, but he went beet red with embarrassment, which sent Sera off into gales of mad laughter.

We got back to my place very late. Both Leliana and I were drunk, but I can definitely say I was moreso. Enough that I almost forgot to check for any sign of my enemy, then when I remembered, did so with a deliberate thoroughness that probably annoyed Leliana. Since there was no bed in the guest room, I let her take mine, grabbed a pillow and blanket, thought about contacting Dorian but decided he probably wouldn’t appreciate being woken up, and passed out on my couch.


	58. Housebreaking

I awoke feeling congested and momentarily unsure why I was sleeping on my couch. I sat up a bit unsteadily, lifted my left hand to rub my eyes without thinking about it and managed to belt myself in the face. _Then_ I remembered Ademar warning me not to do things like that until I was used to my permanently numb hand. Fortunately I hadn’t injured myself and no one had seen me. I went into the kitchen and saw Leliana had left a note propped against my coffee mug: _K- Gone to meet some people. Will be back before I have to leave — late afternoon? Hope the hangover isn’t too unbearable. —L._ “No hangover, just congested,” I told the note. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a sign my body was far too accustomed to alcohol, but put that thought out of my mind in favour of constructing coffee.

Using Leliana’s incipient return as an excuse, I hung around the house all day doing all the chores I’d been neglecting. It wasn’t so bad, because for the first time in over a year I was able to do them using both hands, and even with the extra concentration it took I was delighted how quickly everything went. Not to mention it was good practice; I was determined to reach the point where operating the hand was second nature in as little time as possible. I even skipped doing some chores magically just for the novelty of doing them by hand (knowing that that particular thrill would wear off in no time). Swivet followed me around the entire time, seemingly fascinated with this unusual spate of domestic activity. 

“Leliana’d better get back soon or I’m going to end up baking something,” I told him. He thought that was a fine idea. If Dorian were there he’d probably go into shock or fall down laughing at the thought of doing something that common and domestic, but since I’d begun living without a pile of servants around I found I rather enjoyed cooking at times. It was also another thing I’d never had the opportunity to do two-handed. “Pie or cookies?” I asked Swivet. He thought pie might be too ambitious, so we settled on cookies.

By the time Leliana got back (I’d left the door unlocked and set my wards so she could walk through them), I had just put the last batch in the oven. There was already a large plate cooling on the kitchen table. “It smells wonderful in here,” she said from the other room, “Did you go to the bak- maker’s breath!” she stopped short in the doorway when she saw me, a goofy smile on her face. “You’re _baking_?”

“What, mages aren’t allowed to bake things?” I retorted.

“I always got the impression most of you considered that sort of thing beneath you,” she said. “Can I try one?”

“Help yourself. I used to think that way, but I like to think I’ve grown up a bit since.”

“These are _good_ ,” she said around a bite. “Delicious, in fact.”

“Thank you, though you needn’t sound so surprised,” I said with a wry smile. “I’ve acquired all sorts of exotic skills in the last few years.” I took the cookies out of the oven, letting them sit for a minute before transferring them to the plate.

“No apron?” she smiled, “You like to live dangerously.”

“Danger is my middle name,” I growled, adding, “Besides, I can magic any mess off. Flour plays havoc with a mostly-black wardrobe.”

“This is one more thing I can add to my list of things I never thought I’d see.” She sat down at the table and took another cookie. “You seem remarkably unaffected by the amount you drank last night.”

“I know. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. I’m going to vote good just because I’ve been _accomplishing_ things today.” I joined her at the table and took a cookie for myself. “Were these meetings today anything you can talk about?”

“Unfortunately, no,” she said.

“Understood. I shall decide that that’s a good thing too. You know, it could be that we’re all wrong and Mythal will show up to tell me to go kick Fen’Harel’s arse in her name,” I said cheerfully.

“If she does, we’ll clear a path for you.” Leliana grinned.

That reminded me to tell her about Mikal's wanting to get involved with the efforts to stop him. She agreed to get in touch and, my duty discharged, our talk turned to other subjects.

We were discussing recent plays we'd seen when something in my right front pocket snapped, making me jump as a shard bit into my thigh. It took me a moment to remember why that was happening. "Shite. Leliana, I've got to go," I said, taking the plate of cookies and placing it on top of the icebox where Swivet wouldn't be able to get at it. "You're welcome to stay if you like."

"Problem?" she asked.

"Not exactly. I've got to collect Sera. There's a certain young lady with complicated hair that has some explaining to do. Excuse me a moment." I dashed upstairs to get another shirt to pull on over the sleeveless undershirt I was wearing, debated over bringing a healing potion just in case, realized I didn't have any and went back downstairs.

"Is this the woman that got Sera arrested?"

"One and the same," I confirmed as I grabbed my coat. "She's at Mikal's shop right now. Damn. I don't have time to piss about getting my horse." Leliana's was tethered outside and she offered to give me a ride, so it didn't take long to reach Sera's place. Leliana said she'd wait there with Dagna. Sera got her bow and quiver and we made our way to Mikal's. 

Mikal's eyes went wide as we walked in the door of her shop. "I'll be damned, it worked."

"You had doubts?" I said, giving her a wounded look.

"Where is she?" Sera demanded as though Mikal might have her stuffed in a pocket.

"Sorry, I tried to keep her here, but she left a few minutes ago," Mikal said.

"I thought you said you could never get rid of her," I said.

"Normally I can't. She seemed agitated today; was asking if I had anything that might aid in strengthening bindings. Any idea what she's on about?"

"Only thing it brings to mind is a quote attributed to an old magister: _Don’t call up what you can't put down_. She may be having demon problems," I ventured.

"She couldn't be trying to get herself a familiar?"

I snort-laughed at the thought. "Maybe if she was trying to take quaint and old-timey to an extreme. Familiars fell out of favour a few _ages_ back. I mean, anything's possible, but I'd call that highly unlikely."

"HELLO?" Sera cut in. "While you two are having yourselves a nice chat, that evil _wanker_ is getting away."

"She's right," I admitted. "Which way did she go, Mikal? What's she wearing?"

"That way," she pointed north, "and she should be easy to spot. She's wearing purple and magenta robes and carrying a staff taller than she is with a big, glowy ball at the top. She's even coloured her hair purple."

I rolled my eyes. "Not that she's advertising or anything."

"Kai, stop faffing about and let's bloody _get_ her for fucks sake," Sera snapped.

"Yes, ser," I said. "Later, Mikal. Thanks!" She waved as we went out the door and headed north. "She can't have gotten too far ahead," I reassured Sera. "Just look for the glowy ball."

"What if she turned off somewhere?"

"We'll find her."

"Hey, where's _your_ staff?" she said almost accusingly.

I shrugged. "I don't really use it much anymore; got out of the habit. It's not absolutely necessary."

"Shite. How can someone all purple just _blend in_? If it's not necessary why do you all bloody carry one?" she said, scanning ahead as I checked to the sides. 

"They're useful for focusing and strengthening spells. I think some of it's just _because we always have_ as well, like it would be blasphemy to change. I'm thinking of making one that's smaller. What's that up there? Over to the right," I pointed where I'd seen a flash of something.

Sera looked intently as we walked towards the area (her eyes are better than mine). "HAH! That's her. 'S gotta be. No way is there another bugger dressed like that." She sped up and I followed. It wasn't long before we were catching glimpses of the woman (or at least the big glowy ball on her staff), who was moving at a good clip. Suddenly she turned into a narrow alleyway, disappearing from our view.  We broke into a jog, reaching it quickly, but she'd disappeared. We both heard a door slam some distance away. "I'm not giving up now," Sera said flatly.

"Of course not. Let's start looking," I agreed, leading the way.  It was a typical Hasmal alley surfaced with granite setts, the backs of two- to four-storey buildings close-packed on either side, mostly with locked doors. Here and there were steps leading down to basement doorways. I recommended to Sera that we concentrate on those. “Why?” she asked.

“Because this girl has some weird, romanticised vision of what being a mage entails. I guarantee a basement would appeal to her sense of the dramatic since towers are in short supply,” I said cynically. “She probably calls it her Sanctum or some such nonsense.”

Sera laughed. “She thinks it’s sexy to live in a hole in the ground?”

“My fellow mages and I do not always have much in common,” I admitted. “Many of them would be appalled with me. No robes, no staff half the time, doing magic without making a big flashy deal about it — unheard of.”

She grinned. “So _magey_ mages. Like elfy elves, yeah? So stupid…”

We’d been checking each doorway in the alley as we talked. The first few leading to basements were obvious no-gos: one was chained shut and another had the unmistakable smell of mold and brackish water around it. The one we approached now was different. It was as run down as everything else in the alley, but clean and clearly being used regularly. I checked the magical spectrum, nodded to Sera and said quietly, “This has got to be it. Magic’s being used regularly and whatever’s causing things to feel like the Fade is coming from here too.”

“I suppose you’re going to say we should go in all sneaky,” she said.

“Of course I am. Let me throw a few defensive spells on you first,” I started casting as I spoke. Nothing fancy, just a few spells to block magical attacks and strengthen the leather armor she’d thrown on as a precaution (I was, of course, wearing The Coat). Then it was up to her to pick the lock on the door, which she did easily.

We entered a short, dimly-lit hallway with a blanket hung at the end. The place smelled of alchemical ingredients, candle wax, damp paper, unwashed human and cabbage. There was an acidic undertone to it all that I couldn't place. Sera mimed gagging and I stifled a laugh. I cast a don't-notice-me spell and we walked to the end of the hall. I pushed the blanket to the side just enough to look into the next room. It was large, with stone walls and floor. There was an elderly wood stove against the far right wall, its outlet pipe stuffed through the only window. The wall facing me had banks of counters and cabinets running its length, most of them filled with a bewildering array of junk. The lighting was for shite, but I could see stacks of alchemical apparatus and ingredients warring with piles of books, clothing, dirty plates and less identifiable objects for space. To my left there was another array of blankets tacked up to form a wall of sorts; I assumed behind those lay her living area/bedroom. The centre of the floor had been left clear, a permanent holding circle apparently painted onto the stone. A rug was rolled up and shoved next to some of the counters. I could see large canvas bags stuffed with something over by the blanket-wall. There was a half-full wood bin near the stove. I couldn't make out half of what was in the rest of the room; neatness was not in this girl's vocabulary. I also couldn't see anyone, so we took the chance and sidled into the room, heading right towards the stove. If anyone was there, they were likely to be behind the blanket-wall and we wanted as much space between us and it as possible. 

We'd made it to the gloom of the far wall when we heard a woman's voice accompanied by footsteps on stairs. "Will do, Lady C. Thank you for the tart!" A door opened and closed and the woman muttered, "You interfering old cow." A portion of the blanket wall was pulled back and out came the girl with the complicated hair, which she had indeed coloured purple. She took a large bite of — presumably — the tart, grabbed a piece of chalk and knelt down in the holding circle, drawing sigils as she ate. I couldn't tell what she was up to, but her quick, economical movements spoke of something she'd done frequently. Once she'd finished with her drawings, she picked up a pile of candles from the mess on a nearby counter and duck-walked around her circle, positioning and lighting them.

"What's she doing?" Sera hissed.

"Looks like she's getting ready to conjure something," I whispered back.

"Well shouldn't we stop her before she does?"

"I want to see what it is."

"Yeah, and what if it's a sodding pride demon or something?" Sera demanded.

"We can take it," I said dismissively. The girl started chanting as she lit something stinky, making dramatic hand gestures to go along with it. Silly and completely unnecessary, but it certainly fit with everything else I knew about her. I wondered who, if anyone, had trained her.

"You mean _four_ of us can take one and you don't have the Anchor any more so no super-recovery powers," Sera said, elbowing me in the ribs for good measure.

"Ow. It's not going to be a pride demon and that was cruel and uncalled-for." I gave her a glare.

"Shite. What's _that_?" Sera was looking at the circle. There was something solidifying in the middle of it. It looked for all the world like a fennec the size of a Mabari hound.

"Told you it wouldn't be a pride demon," I whispered.

"Yeah, that's smashing, Kai. What is it?" she repeated.

"Dunno, exactly. Some sort of spirit," I said helpfully.

The girl finally wound down her big production number and intoned, "Welcome, spirit. While you visit this realm, I control you. You are my helper and servant. You must-"

"Yes, yes, heed your every word, I know," it said in an odd, growly voice. "Who are _they_?"


	59. Some Girls Wander By Mistake

Since the bloody thing had outed us, I figured I may as well roll with it. I cast a proper light in the dim room and stepped forward, Sera beside me with bow drawn.

The girl gasped and said, " _You_ ," like some kind of stock character in a play. She was looking at Sera.

Sera, rarely one to be caught flat-footed, said, "Yeah, _me_. You have three seconds to explain why you framed me for that _stupid_ prank before you get an arrow through your eye. My friend here will take care of your giant fennec."

The spirit made a great show of deliberately sitting down as the girl said angrily. "It's your own fault I had to do that! If you'd given me the time of day I wouldn't have to keep going, would I."

" _My_ fault? I don't bloody know you and I've never seen you before in my life. Where do you get _that_ load of rubbish?" Sera demanded.

"You're Red Jenny," the girl shot back, "Everyone knows you are. I didn't realize I'd have to find you and spell it out in block letters to get you to realize I wanted to join."

I felt like pulling up a chair and joining the spirit on the sidelines, but knew these sorts of things could get ugly quickly, so I stayed standing, trying to look stern and slightly threatening. 

"What, I'm supposed to go running about looking for _you_ just because you pulled some pranks that all had red bits in?" Sera scoffed. "If you know so sodding much you could've sent me a note to _say_ you wanted to join like _normal_ people."

The girl sneered. "Maker, I had no idea you'd be so common. You're nothing but a mouthy little elf."

"If that's how you go about making friends, no wonder you live in a hole in the ground and have to conjure people to talk to," Sera snapped.

"You shouldn't sass your betters like that, knife ears." The girl started doing another set of ridiculous gestures in preparation for casting a spell. I nailed both her hands with small electric bolts designed to simply disrupt her and said, "There will be none of that. Be polite."

She looked at me and snorted. "I've seen you around. People say you're some sort of badass mage. If that's the best you can do, you're overrated."

"That was to get your attention," I told her. "You're being rude when all Sera did was point out that you chose a remarkably ineffective way to get _her_ attention."

"Ooooh, aren't _you_ posh," she said, curling a lip at me. "Maybe I _should_ let you take care of my servant here while I wipe the floor with _dear_ little Sera." The spirit's ears went flat against its skull as it growled softly; I got the impression it wanted no part of this.

I started mentally lining up more spells as I said, "With all due respect, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me? You broke into my house," she spat.

"Because you got me thrown in jail!" Sera retorted.

"And you're getting out of control," I added. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but you know sweet fuck-all about being a mage and at the rate you're going you're going to get someone killed next."

"I know _exactly_ what I'm doing," she shouted at me. "I've been conjuring _that_ for months now."

"My sympathies," I said to the spirit. "What are you?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?" the girl demanded.

"Indulge me. Let it answer," I said.

She glared at all of us. "Fine. Answer him."

"Mischief," it said. "She wanted me badly enough that I sensed her. When I came close she drew me through. We had much fun. I learned much, but I know many things now and there is no longer fun."

"Why is there no fun now?" I asked it. 

"She does not want mere mischief anymore and what she wants pulls at me. I-"

"SHUT UP," she snapped at it.

"Let it go," I said quietly. "You've had your fun and got noticed. You don't need mischief anymore."

"Fuck you, you bald bastard. How about you get out of my Sanctum," she said. I couldn't believe she'd actually called it a bloody sanctum.

Sera laughed her mad laugh. “You were right!” she said, never taking her eyes off the girl.

“What?” the girl looked daggers at both of us. “You think something’s funny?”

“No, this is far from funny,” I said. “Look- what’s your name? I can’t just keep calling you ‘girl’ in my mind.”

Her mouth set into a stubborn line for a moment, then she said, “Enna. Enna Duchesne. And I’m twice the mage you’ll ever be.”

I heard Sera snort next to me; I kept all my concentration on Enna. “Who trained you, Enna? Where did you learn all…this?” I gestured vaguely at the entire room with its silly, clichéd magical trappings.

“I’m mostly self-trained,” she said proudly. “When I knew I was magic, I ran away before the Templars could get me. It wasn’t easy, but I learned how to do some spells to fight and others to hide. Then I met some rebel mages during the mage-Templar wars and they taught me loads of stuff from the Circles. Most of them got killed during the war and some of the others took off without me, so I’ve been on my own since. I figured with my background I’d be perfect for the Red Jennys, but _she_ was too dense to figure it out.” And just like that she slid back into a sulky rage.

“How do you survive?” I asked her, trying to sound nothing but interested. “How do you afford this place?”

She visibly puffed up. “I sell charms. I got a book that tells how to make ‘em and I just throw a little extra magic in them so they glow a little. Also, there’s some old people that pay me to keep them looking younger.”

“Looking younger?” I echoed.

“Yeah, you know.” She smirked. “It’s just illusion spells, and they fade. But that’s super, because then they have to keep coming back before they old out again. ‘Course, sometimes I get sick of the grind, grind, grind so I just convince people to give me things.”

“You…convince them,” I put a degree of skepticism in my tone.

“Oh, come on, baldy. You know. Little push of mind magic, make ‘em want to help the cute girl.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

Wonderful. She had the ethics and moral centre of bag of rocks. “What about the spirit? How does it fit in?” I asked.

“It? It’s just for pranks. It likes pranks; everything else it gets all pissy and stupid about.” She shrugged.

That explained all those unreachable targets: the mischief spirit could simply materialize wherever it wanted. “You’ve done very well on your own, Enna,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even, “but there’s a lot you still don’t know. I can help you with that. Why don’t you just dismiss the spirit and we can talk about it.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Her fists clenched as she snarled. “That thing again. That’s all you care about— _release the bloody spirit_ ,” she said mockingly. “Fuck you, you stuck-up prick.” She started with her spell-making gestures again, so Sera very practically fired an arrow into the meaty part of her left upper arm (yes, Sera’s that good a shot).

Enna screamed, but it wasn’t in pain so much as sheer rage. “You _assholes!_ You break into my Sanctum and now you _shoot_ me? That's it. _Kill them, you stupid spirit,_ ” she shrieked at Mischief, _“Rip their heads off and piss down their fucking throats. KILL THEM. Do it NOW.”_

The spirit twisted in the circle, snapping at the air. Enna screamed at it again. It gave us a look of pain and sorrow, threw its head back and howled. The sound was deep and terrible, and as it howled it began to shift and change before us. Enna managed to lob a fireball at us, but I countered it without even having to think about it. I fired a force spell back at her to send her flying into the heavy cabinet behind her, hoping it might knock her cold and release the spirit, but the junk she had all over the place cushioned her from slamming directly into it. Instead, she scuttled behind it and out of our line of sight, swearing incoherently.

The spirit continued its dreadful, mournful howling as its skin cracked and turned molten, growing and mutating as it pulled directly from the Fade to add to its mass. In far less time than it takes to tell, the metamorphosis was complete. Mischief was no more, replaced by a massive, howling rage demon.

“Oh, balls,” Sera said. “Cover me while I get ready, will you?”

“I’ve got it,” I assured her. “Just do what you need to do.” I threw barriers on both of us then turned my attention to the demon bearing down on us. As it slashed out at me with a burning set of claws bigger than my head, I hit it hard with freezing spells; it’s the only thing that does any kind of fast damage to a rage demon.

Sera shouted, “Down!” and I dived out of the way as she nailed it with a quick succession of arrows that gouged chunks out of it while it was still half-frozen. It shrieked again and I felt sick at the position we’d all been put in even as I jumped up and hit it with a third heavy freezing spell, following it up with a force spell I tried to concentrate into as small an area as possible without the extra accuracy a staff provides. My spell hit and sheared another piece of the demon off. It surged forward and as I spun to dodge it my foot caught in a pile of what looked to be dirty laundry on the floor. I lost my balance and went down hard on my right knee, falling out of its line of sight. I heard Enna give a shout of triumph. The demon bore down on Sera, but she had cracked the seal on one of the flasks she carried with her and swallowed its contents. In a heartbeat she seemed to be covered with a rime of ice. She pulled her holdout dagger out of her belt and slashed at the demon as it closed on her. The dagger bit into the demon, freezing the area it entered, the cold spreading from the ‘wound’ to afflict more of the creature as Sera kept on the offensive. 

I got to my feet, ignoring the pain in my knee, and fired another freezing spell at the demon from behind. It howled again, twisting itself away from Sera to launch itself at me. I took the hit, turning so it only made contact with my coat. It drove me back down to my knees (the right one sent a bolt of pain up my leg in protest), but I came up with a freezing spell to its face and conjured a sword that I swung hard into the side of its 'neck'. At the same time Sera’s arrows were skewering it, her potions imbuing them with cold so they bit chunks out of the demon’s very being with each hit.

It lashed out desperately, clawing at the arrows as it attempted to spit fire at us, but we’d fought rage demons far too frequently to leave it any opening. It was an ugly rhythm of freeze and hack that we set up, and it wasn’t long until the demon couldn’t keep replacing the amount of itself it was losing to our attacks. It gave a final, despairing howl and collapsed in on itself; at the very last moment before it dissipated entirely, it took on the outline of a very small fennec.

I looked over to see Enna still on the other side of her stupid circle, holding her staff loosely in one hand and staring at us wide-eyed. For a moment I seriously considered killing her. I contented myself with throwing a force spell at her that knocked her flat on her ass and made her drop the staff as I stalked towards her, furious. “Are you fucking happy, you little idiot?” I demanded, “You corrupted it and made us _murder_ it!”

“It was just a dumb Fade spirit,” she yelped, her voice trembling.

“That _dumb_ spirit had more integrity and self-awareness than you,” I snapped. “Or if that’s too bloody _posh_ for you, we just had to kill a person and the bloody monster that made it happen is still in this room.”

She snarled and started weaving her hands frantically. “Keep it up. Give me a reason to fucking kill you,” I said to her.

“If he doesn’t, I will,” Sera said coldly. She was standing just behind and off to one side of me, and arrow nocked and ready to go in her bow. “I already shot you once, don’t think I won’t do it again.”

“And she doesn’t miss,” I added.

Enna stopped her attempt at spellcasting and glared at us with pure venom. “So what are you going to do now? Make me Tranquil?” She tried to sound sarcastic, but it came out more terrified.

I shook my head. “I don’t really know what to do with you yet. We certainly can’t leave you to your own devices. Stand up.”

She pouted, but stood. I told her, “This is going to hurt,” and snapped the arrow still sticking out of her arm, pulling the shaft out and casting a weak healing spell on it. “It’s going to leave a scar,” I said. 

“Why? To teach me a lesson?” she said snottily.

“If you like,” I shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like you’re very teachable. Could be I’m just not very good at healing spells and that doesn’t break my heart at the moment.”

“She owes me for that arrow,” Sera said. “Plus all the ones I had to waste on her demon.”

“She’ll pay,” I said. “Sera, would you mind digging through this mess for some good cord? Our prodigy here seems unable to cast without putting on a pantomime show, so that should keep her under control while I figure out what to do with her.”

“Sure, but arrows work too,” Sera said, using the broken one to start poking through Enna’s belongings.

“If you think I’m scared you’re dead wrong,” Enna announced.

I just said, “Uh huh,” and sat down on a nearby stool. I’d already cast a healing spell on my knee, but it was still a little sore. I knew what I needed to do with her, but the reality of it was warring with some deep-set feelings I had. Between that and having to kill Mischief, I felt a bit sick.

“Got some!” Sera said triumphantly. “Good rawhide. Hands behind your back, wanker.” She knotted the bonds expertly and said to me, “So what’re we doing with her?”

I sighed. “For now, we take her to the Watch. They can at least keep her locked up while I make arrangements.”


	60. Choices

We marched Enna to the Watch station. A different member was on desk duty, but Captain Esham was in. I explained to her how and why the girl was dangerous and she agreed to keep her locked up with her hands secured until I could get what we needed. I asked her what I needed to know, and she was able to provide me names. Once Enna was safely in a cell, Sera and I left the station. I asked her if the Jennys had anyone in Ostwick and if there were Ostwick messenger ravens. "Yes and yes," she said, “What’re you up to?”

“Trying to do the right thing,” I said.

“If that’s the look you get on your face doing the right thing I’d hate to see the wrong one,” she said.

“I just need to send a message to a person in Ostwick quickly and hopefully get a message back from them just as quickly,” I sort-of explained. “Would the Jenny there be all right with playing go-between so I can use the ravens?”

Sera shrugged. “Sure. Don’t see why you’ve got to be all secret about it though. What’s up your arse about this, Kai?”

“I’ll tell you, just not right now. It’s not really secret. I just need to wrap my mind around it.”

When we got back to Sera’s I let her tell Dagna and Leliana what happened while I composed my notes. It was tricky writing them because I had to keep the size and weight down so the raven could carry them easily. I gave the notes to Sera and watched as she attached them to her Ostwick raven and sent it on its way. Then I had to say my goodbyes to Leliana rather hurriedly because I still had one more urgent stop to make before it got too late. She could tell I was bothered by something but didn’t ask; she just thanked me and told me Cassandra would be in touch. We made promises to also keep in touch and see each other more often, knowing that probably wouldn’t happen. I left before she did, heading to a part of town I rarely frequented.

The address the Captain had given me was a pub almost exclusively frequented by former and current soldiers. The only others marginally accepted there are members of the Watch. I may not have been carrying my staff, but I sure as fuck didn’t fit in. When I walked in every head in the place turned, and the looks I was being given were far from friendly. I named the man I was looking for and said that it was for business; that made them a lot less interested in me. 

The man I’d come to see was some inches taller than me and slim, with a distinct Rivaini cast to his features. He knew who I was, and admitted he was surprised I wanted to hire him and his partner. I assured him I’d never expected to be doing any such thing and explained I’d need them to start right away because of the danger to the Watch members. He fetched his partner, a burly, middle-aged man who clearly shaved his head because he had only a sad fringe of hair remaining that he could grow. Feeling like some kind of hypocritical monster, I accompanied my hired Templars back to the Watch station, where they’d be able to ensure that Enna couldn’t cast a single spell while I made arrangements. I told myself it was kinder than keeping her hands bound the entire time, and that she’d proven she couldn’t be trusted, but it left a bad taste in my mouth that wasn’t about to get any better.

**=#=**

I dropped by Sera and Dagna's the following afternoon to see if the raven had arrived (it hadn't) then walked to the Watch station. A brief stop at the front desk and I was allowed back to the jail section. The shorter, burly Templar was seated on a chair in front of Enna's cell. He looked bored. "How's our prisoner?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "She certainly has a… colorful vocabulary. She also threw her breakfast against the wall, but so far she's stopped short of threatening to hold her breath until she turns blue and dies."

I gave a sympathetic chuckle and told him he could take a break. Sitting in his vacated chair, I skooched closer and said, "Hello, Enna."

She gave me a death look. "Unless you're here to open this stinking cell, fuck off, baldy."

"I'm not going to do that. And if your cell stinks, it's because you're throwing your food around.”

She spit at me (it landed just in front of her on the floor) and said, "What are you doing here, anyway? Come to gloat?" 

"No, I came to talk to you."

"Yeah, well I don't wanna talk to _you_."

"I don't really care," I said. "I want you to understand why this is happening."

"It's happening because you're an evil cunt. Elf-lover. Lady Knife-Ears sat in a cell so you’re making me do the same? Did my fade spirit make you hot? Is that why you got all sad about killing the dumb thing?"

"That sort of childish shite is why this is happening, Enna. You're untrained and undisciplined and you don't appear to have the slightest idea what ethics are. I can't let you keep blithering through life until you manage to kill someone or just as likely get yourself killed."

"Fuck you. I get by fine on my own," she sneered.

"You don't even have the slightest idea how to properly cast a spell," I said. "You 'get by' by lying and cheating people; you barely do any real magic. You live in a basement that smells of cabbage. If you thought that was so wonderful, why were you trying to impress Sera and join the Friends of Red Jenny?"

She pouted at me then cocked her head to one side and said in a soft tone completely unlike anything she'd used previously, "Maybe you're right. I guess I haven't been really honest. Maybe I just need some… help?" She stood up slowly, thrusting her chest at me as she pasted a round-eyed look on her face. "Do you want to help me?" She approached the bars of the cell, swaying her hips in a slow walk, reached up and grasped a bar with her right hand, standing with her back arched so her breasts and behind were both sticking out. She arched her neck and leaned her head into her right arm, purring, "I'd be verrry grateful."

I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. "Oh, for pity's sake, stop that and sit down," I managed to say. "And stop trying to mind magic me."

She stomped back to her cot with an inarticulate noise of pure rage, thudded onto it and went back to staring daggers at me. I wiped my eyes (with my right hand) and got myself under control, though just looking at her made me want to start laughing again. "That, Enna, is a perfect example of what I was trying to tell you. You need to learn a few things still, like not everyone is going to be attracted to you and you're not going to be able to use mind magic on everyone. In fact, there are mages out there that would fucking kill you for trying that on them. The sooner you get that through your head the better."

"You didn't have to laugh like that, you asshole," she pouted.

"I'm afraid I did," I said, clamping down on the urge to at least snicker. "I'm sorry, but that was pathetic. And I don't just mean your little vamp act. You need training; just accept that fact."

"I _did_ get training from those mages I told you about," she said, sounding more defensive than angry now.

"And how do you know they were any good? The very fact that you're doing some of the things you're doing makes me think either _they_ didn't know what they were doing or they were having you on."

"What things am I doing?" 

I imitated her silly hand gestures. "What is that?"

"It's how you spellcast. It's to call the forces of magic," she said.

"Is that what they told you?" 

She nodded, but she was starting to look unsure for the first time.

"Enna, you saw me in your basement. I'm a _real_ mage." I conjured a stable fireball, did my trick of turning it into a little dragon that blew its own little fireball before dissipating. "No grand gestures required, you see," I said. "You don't need to _call_ the forces of magic; they're in you. What you need is to learn how to control them. And your goal should not be to use them to be a dishonest arsehole. Not only is it a shite way to run your life, but eventually you're going to piss off the wrong person and they're going to kill you or worse."

She'd gone wide-eyed at my little fire trick and still had a bit of that gobsmacked look on her face. " _You_ can teach me," she declared.

I shook my head. "No, Enna, I can't. I don't have the time and more importantly, I'm no teacher. I don't have the patience required. I'm trying to make arrangements right now so you can be taught. You'll just have to wait here a bit longer until they're made."

"Why should I bloody wait here?" she started getting angry again. "I can wait at home. Or if you're all worried, take me with you. I can learn shit and you can keep an eye on me."

"No," I told her. "You can't be trusted on your own and frankly, I don't want to babysit you. You'll stay here where the Templars can keep you from pulling your nasty little mind magic tricks and whatever else you may think of trying."

"Look, I'm sorry I made my spirit attack you, okay? You act like I killed your best friend," she said with a note of desperation.

"That's why I can't trust you," I said. "You don't understand. It wasn't _your_ spirit and you didn't just make it attack us. You corrupted it. I also haven't forgotten all the shite you called Sera and I'm sure if you knew anything about me you'd be just as obnoxious. You're not a nice person, Enna, and I've had quite enough of dealing with people like you. You're young enough you could still learn, though. Otherwise I may have killed you yesterday. I'll be back when the arrangements are final." I stood up and put the chair back against the wall.

"Fuck you, you stuck-up bastard!" she shouted and with a wild set of hand gestures, threw a passably good lightning bolt at me. I blocked it easily and fired one cute little bolt back that hit her on the tip of the nose, just to be a smartass.

I walked to the exit with her calling me every name in the book, and a few the book would probably refuse to print. Outside, I nodded to my Templar that he was free to retake his station; he didn’t look thrilled at the prospect. I returned to Sera’s to find that the raven from Ostwick had arrived. Much to Sera’s frustration, I thanked her for the note and headed home to read it. I knew she wouldn’t completely understand my feelings and preferred to look at it alone.

I checked around my house before I dropped the wards even though it was starting to feel like a nuisance now that so many days had gone by with no sign of my enemy. I tried to dismiss the hope that they really were gone as unrealistic, but it remained in the back of my mind. I pulled a bottle of beer out of my pantry and chilled it as Swivet rushed up to say hello and inform me he was moments away from starving. Once I’d fed him, I took a couple of my cookies, sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the little scroll of paper. There were two words written in heavy black ink on the outside: **_ACTIVATE ME._**

I gave the little scroll a magical charge and it expanded into a full-sized letter. “Show-off,” I grumbled, though I was suitably impressed. For some reason, in all the years I’d been using ravens, it had never dawned on me how simple that would be to do, particularly when writing to other mages. I unrolled it and started reading.

 _Dear Kai,_  
_Despite the reason, it’s wonderful to hear from you. I admit I’m shocked at this request coming from you, thus I’m inclined to take it seriously. Of course we can take her in. If you’re confident that with some stability and proper training the girl can be salvaged, I’m certainly willing to try._  
_I must say I’m concerned about the no morality comment. Some have just had a difficult life but are decent, feeling people at heart. **But:** as you must well know by now, some people simply lack that piece that makes a person care; they have no empathy and can at best only mimic. If she’s one of those we may have some hard decisions to make, and since she’s your find, I prefer to defer to you._  
_Anything you can tell me about her would be appreciated. Just use my little compacting trick and write me a real letter, would you?_  
_On other topics, I’d very much like to catch up with you if you’re inclined to make your way to dull old Ostwick one of these days. It’s been far too long since we had a drink together and you told me of your outlandish adventures (and I thank the Maker that circumstances conspired to make it possible for you to have those adventures)._  
_I know this was a difficult decision for you, but it was the right one. I’m proud of you, son. Even when you resented my very existence, you were always one of my favorites._  
_Yr. friend,_  
_Oliver Caudill_  
_First Enchanter, Ostwick Circle_

“I am a horrible, horrible person,” I muttered to myself. But I was still going to do it no matter how terrible I felt. I was going to pay those two Templars to escort Enna Duchesne to the Ostwick Circle, where they could train her and keep her away from the public until she wasn’t a danger to herself and everyone around her.

I fetched my horse and rode back to the Watch station, pulling my Templar (the taller one was there now) away from Enna-duty to arrange their escorting her to Ostwick. 

“Why Ostwick?” he asked, “You are aware Hasmal still has a Circle.”

“I don’t know anything about Hasmal’s Circle. I know I can trust Ostwick’s First Enchanter to do right by her and I already feel like enough of a bastard sending her to them,” I said. 

“Fair enough,” he said; they’d make more coin taking her to Ostwick anyway.

Judging by the look on his face, I probably went overboard stressing that they were not to mistreat her in any way, including taking advantage even if she attempted to seduce them. He assured me no such thing would happen. I reiterated it'd better not; though they seemed to be decent men, she was still a young, reasonably attractive idiot and my trust of Templars — and the majority of my fellow men in general — will never run very deep. I did allow that they didn't have to tolerate outright abuse from her. We hammered out the details of their pay — half up front, half on their return contingent on confirmation of her safe delivery to Oliver — and the financing of the trip. I agreed to meet them before their departure the next day. 

I grabbed something to eat, topped off my beer supply and went home to write a proper letter to Oliver. 

A few words about my former First Enchanter: Back when I walked away from the Circle, he'd actually come into town to find me. When he first showed up at the door to my apartment I'd been sure he'd come to drag me back, but he'd honestly been concerned about me. Once he'd managed to convince me he had no ulterior motives (returning my phylactery to me went a long way towards that), we'd developed a friendship. He'd helped me a great deal those first few years, and was one of the only people in Ostwick I cared to talk to. It had been Oliver who'd suggested I attend Justinia's Conclave as a representative of the mages despite my no longer being associated with any Circle. I think he looked upon my ability to survive successfully in the real world as something of a personal success story; though he'd never let on when I was locked in the Circle, it turned out he shared my opinion that very few mages _need_ to be locked away from the world their entire lives. It made my request to him all the more ironic, but at least I felt I could trust him.

Once I'd finished the letter (written entirely with my left hand, which pleased me no end), I replicated his neat little compacting spell and rode over to Sera's. She was cross with me for not telling her exactly what I was doing, but sent it on to Ostwick. I went home, played with Swivet, read for a while, talked to Dorian for over an hour, then went to bed and spent most of the night having one nightmare after another.


	61. All Days are Black

I walked into the Watch station far too early the next morning, feeling thoroughly out of sorts after all the damned nightmares. Enna and Rolf (the stocky Templar) were both wide awake. He pulled me aside as I approached the cell.

"Everything's ready to go, boss. You going to tell her now?"

I nodded. "I'm expecting an explosion. I'll bring her out and hand her over to you. Just…try to remember that she's mostly just young and ill-mannered."

He chuckled. "Don't worry, I've seen her type before. Not all of us hate you mages on principle, you know."

"I know." I sighed. "You're not the only ones with prejudices to overcome. You do have my permission to shut her up if need be."

He grinned. "And for that we both thank you, though I have to say this last day has been an education. I've known sailors that don't know half the curses she does. Have fun breaking the news to her."

I gave him a pained smile and continued to the cell as he exited. Enna gave me a good-morning glare, saying, "Well? _Now_ what do you want?"

"Arrangements have been made for you, Enna," I said, not bothering to sit this time. "You'll be leaving today. If there's anything you want from your apartment, tell me and I'll bring it for you."

She gawked at me. "You can't do that. What gives you the right?"

"The fact that you've admitted to criminal acts and as a mage you're woefully untrained. Either one would be enough. I know the pranks were mostly just pranks, but you've got a pack of nobles howling for your blood; you're just lucky they don't know you're in here. They could easily convince the Teyrn to make an example of you if we _don't_ deal with you first."

"You're lying," she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Enna, but I'm not. You've been using magic to prank people with no sense of humour. You've also been using it to flat out swindle people and if they knew about the mind magic, they'd probably make you Tranquil on the spot. You know bloody well I'm not exaggerating." I waited for a response, but she just stared at the floor sulkily. "Whether you like it or not, my plan is the only one that's going to save you from some really horrible things happening."

"What's your stupid plan, then?" she said.

"The Templars are going to take you to the Circle in Ostwick." I was going to explain more to her, but she exploded.

"A _Circle_? You evil, bald _bastard!_ " She leapt off her cot, flew over to the bars and spat at me again. This time it connected, hitting me on the right cheek. I wiped it off with my shirt sleeve as she continued, "You nug-fucking, cocksucking snake. Is that what you do for a living? Hunt down other mages and sell them out? You gurgut-arsed, poxy wanker! You-"

"ENOUGH," I cut her off flatly. "I get the idea. And if I could think of any other way to deal with you, I would. But you _need_ the training and you need to be taught a few other basics as well. This particular Circle has also guaranteed me if everything goes well and you learn what you need to learn, you'll be allowed to leave. Now is there anything you want to take with you?"

"Fuck you," she said.

"Last chance. I'll ask your landlady to take any of your things that aren't clearly garbage and put them in storage for you. Your escort is ready to leave, so I suggest you make up your mind." I looked at her impassably, even though I felt like a total shit.

"You really mean it, don't you…" she gave me a look of utter disgust. "Fine, you fucking turncoat. Give me something to write with." I got her a pencil and scrap of paper from the other room and she made a list.

"I'll be back with your things," I said and left before she could say anything else, signalling Rolf to take up his post again. If she was going to try anything, it would be now.

I talked to her landlady, gave the woman some money with the promise of a monthly stipend for storage, and collected Enna's things (not a simple undertaking, given the state she kept her rooms in). Returning to the Watch station, I gave the bundle — including her staff — to Karel (the taller Templar), paid him the up-front money and some extra for travel expenses then went in to fetch Enna. She gave me a glare that would strip paint, but didn't try anything. At least she was sensible enough to know it would have been pointless.

A few Watch members looked on curiously as we left the station. I told Enna her things would be stored for her and pointed out the items she'd requested. She said nothing until they'd got her mounted on a horse that would be sandwiched between theirs.

I said, "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Enna, but it really is the best way to get you the training you need. Good luck."

She looked down at me and said, "I hope you die screaming. I hope you beg for it to end and it never does. You're a traitor to your own kind and I hope everyone you ever love dies screaming too." She turned away from me and said to the Templars, "Let's go, then. You two are just doing what you were hired to do."

They rode away. A Watch member I'd never met before came up to me and said, "Don't pay her any mind; she's just narked. We get that sort of sass all the time. She don’t understand what'd happen to her if you didn't send her off."

"I know," I said with a sigh. "Problem is, I really do feel like a bastard doing that to her."

She gave me a knowing nod. "Now you're ready to join the Watch. Trust me, don't let it eat you up. Some folks need to be put away for a bit till they learn how to behave. Some _never_ learn."

"You're right. Thanks," I said. She gave me a friendly clap on the shoulder and went to rejoin her colleagues.

**=#=**

I walked home, made a desultory check for traps and hostiles, slammed the door shut, threw myself on the couch and slept for a few hours. I woke up feeling somehow more tired than when I'd gone to sleep, sat up and announced " _SHIT"_ to no one in particular. I felt like punching something, but there was nothing _to_ punch. Swivet approached me with a cautious trill. I boosted him up next to me on the couch, where he settled in using my thigh as a pillow. I stroked his velvety skin and said, “Is it wrong of me that I want to go out, get very drunk and get into a fistfight with someone?” Swivet didn’t think much of my idea, seeing as I’d always considered that sort of thing stupid, and knew far more about fistfighting in theory than practice. I decided to listen to my nug.

I knew it was pointless and self-destructive, but all I could think was _you captured another mage and sent her with a Templar escort to be locked in a Circle._ It was about the worst thing I'd ever had happen to me, and now I'd done it to someone else. It didn't matter that the circumstances were completely different, or that I'd honestly done it to help, the fact was I'd done it. “There should’ve been another way,” I told Swivet. “Andraste’s balls, there probably was another way and I didn’t think of it." Swivet had no answer to that. 

"I feel like breaking something, but that’s just stupid; I never understood people who get angry and destroy their own things," I complained. Swivet twitched his ears in agreement. "Maybe I should just go out and have violent, dangerous sex with a complete stranger.” Swivet didn’t even bother to give his opinion on that one, as it was patently ridiculous. “Would you like to go for a walk, boy?” I asked him. He lifted his head off my thigh and gave a hopeful squeak.

I didn’t bother grabbing my coat — the weather was too warm and if anyone attacked me I figured I could get by on pure rage. We walked to the pub where I ordered a sandwich for myself and a bowl of rabbit stew for Swivet (I always thought rabbit stew verged on cannibalistic for him, but Swivet loves the stuff). We both ate quickly and I purchased what I’d really come for: beer (I'd considered something harder, but the last time I'd gotten depressed and done that it had gone very badly). I filled the sturdy canvas bag I’d brought with me, made noises of agreement when the bartender asked if I was hosting a party and escaped before I had to talk to anyone else. It was nearly dark now, and I checked the perimeter of my house almost hoping my enemy would attack, but nothing happened. We went inside and I turned my attention to the business of getting seriously drunk. 

About one hour and three bottles in, I felt like I couldn’t take one more minute of silence and took the chance of activating my sending crystal. “He won’t be there,” I told Swivet, who’d apparently decided not to leave my side, “or he’ll be busy. He’ll be hosting a dinner party or out at a concert, you just watch.” A moment later Dorian’s voice said, “Amatus?”

“I know it’s early, but can you talk?” I said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“If you’re busy just tell me. I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“I’m not busy,” he assured me. “In point of fact, I was reading the fabulous new semi-biographical epic by the former chief assistant to one of our recently deceased magisters and was about ready to throw it across the room. What’s bothering you? You sound upset.”

“I am. I thought I’d just try to get blind drunk, but I need to talk to you. I just did something awful for all the right reasons and I’m kind of hating myself.” I was surprised at how easy the truth of what I was feeling was to articulate.

“That sounds more like something _I’d_ do,” Dorian said lightly. “Tell me what happened.”

I did tell him and then we talked for a very long time until he was clearly getting too tired and I was getting too drunk to remain coherent. We agreed to talk the next night and I deactivated the crystal. I still kind of hated myself, but talking to him had made me feel worlds better. I also made good on my plan to get drunk enough that I could no longer think, managed to make it upstairs to bed and passed out. If I had any nightmares, they were too booze-sodden for me to remember.

**=#=**

I got up very late in the afternoon, not so much because I wanted to as my back and left side were refusing to take one more moment of being horizontal. For once I actually felt hung over and rather welcomed the feeling; it fueled my depression nicely. I fed Swivet, drank two cups of coffee then opened another beer: the drunk’s surefire hangover cure. I knew what I was doing was foolish, but couldn’t quite bring myself to care. If Dorian were there he would have been able to stop me easily, but he wasn’t and oh, maker, could I ever get some mileage out of _that_ to keep my mood going.

I sat at my kitchen table wishing I could watch some sort of entertainment without having to find it out in the world or physically open a book. The endless quiet of the house was annoying me, but I didn’t want to leave and have to look at other people, let alone talk to them. I conjured my little fire dragon, conjured another made of ice crystals. I had my fire dragon blow a fireball as my ice dragon blew an ice ball. Both connected and the little dragons went up in puffs of icy flame. I got my deck of cards from the living room and practiced shuffling them, which took quite a bit of concentration to get my left hand to do correctly. More than once the cards went flying, but after a dozen or so tries I’d gotten reasonably good at it and started playing solitaire. I was on my fifth game and fifth beer when someone knocked on my front door. I considered not answering it, but Swivet was squeaking at me and I was bored.

I opened my door and Mikal said, “Andraste’s tits, Kai, you look like shit.”

“Good day to you too,” I replied, getting out of the way so she could come in. Swivet bounced around her happily.

“You also smell like a brewery,” she observed, “What’s going on? Varric’s book never mentioned this side of you.”

I didn’t want to, but that made me laugh. “I don’t think this is the image even he wanted to project for someone who may have been chosen by Andraste. Have a seat.”

She already had. “Well? I’m waiting to hear an explanation.”

“Just a minute.” I went into to kitchen and got another beer, rejoined her in the living room where I dropped gracelessly into my armchair, ignoring the narrow look she was giving me. “Believe it or not, my life isn’t exactly a whirlwind of fun and whimsy,” I said, “and I mostly deal with it since it isn’t nightmarishly bad either, but I’ve just had to do something that runs counter to absolutely everything I believe in and it was the right thing to do even though I was roundly cursed for doing it. I am having a great deal of difficulty reconciling this in my mind, and it’s exacerbating all the other things that also bother me.”

“So you’ve decided that torturing your liver is the best way to handle it?” Mikal said.

“In the short term, yes.” I took a drink as punctuation. “It kept me from having nightmares last night. Some hero, aren’t I?”

She snorted. “If you think I’m going to help you wallow in self-pity, you’ve got another thing coming, my boy. I’ve been where you are. It stinks, but if you know you did the right thing, you just have to accept that the world is a cruel place and it doesn’t give a fig about your feelings. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I muttered. “I just get so bloody _tired_ of it all. Is it that fucking impossible for things to simply be _nice_ once in a while?”

“Welcome to the human race,” she said sardonically. “And the elven, dwarven and Qunari races as well, I’m sure.”

“You know, you’re absolutely rotten at being kindly and sympathetic,” I said. "That motherly look you foster is a cruel lie."

“Good. You’ll thank me for that,” she said firmly. “Seriously, Kai, lay off the beer, would you? It’s making your face look puffy. Now go shave, clean your teeth and put on your boots; I’m getting you out of here.” I just stared at her. Incredibly, she stood up, walked over to me and smacked me open-handed on the back of the head. “GO. I’ll wait here for you. Drink some water while you’re at it.”

I made a noise of protest even though I knew she was right and levered myself out of my chair. She snatched the beer out of my hand and gave me an _I dare you_ look. Shaking my head, I went to do as she ordered. It seemed the safest course of action.

She marched me over to her house (accompanied by Swivet, who was thrilled), gathered several pieces of her mini-crossbow collection together and led me to a long outbuilding behind her house. I’d assumed it was some sort of storage area, but she’d turned it into an indoor archery range. “When I feel like you’re feeling right now, I find it very therapeutic to shoot something,” she told me with a grin. “Have you ever used one of these before?”

“Not for a very long time,” I said. I couldn’t quite remember where I’d fired one, but I sort of remembered doing so.

“Then let’s give you a refresher course.” She turned out to be a very good teacher and I have to say, I caught on much more quickly than I’d expected to. In very little time I was hitting the targets with an accuracy that, while it would never equal Sera’s, I found immensely gratifying.

“Damn, boy, you’re good,” Mikal said. “I can tell you’ve used these before. Your body remembers even if you don’t.” I just grinned. She was right: there was something unbelievably satisfying about shooting things, and the crossbow was a very different experience from using magic. I decided then and there that I was going to incorporate the weapon into my repertoire; it was just too much fun to abandon.

As we competed with each other, Mikal finally asked me exactly what happened. It was easier to recount it calmly when I was concentrating on loading and aiming the weapon, as though the activity made it possible to step back and look at it all logically. She just nodded when I finished and said, “You did the right thing, Kai. She was a disaster waiting to happen; I don’t know that I would have been anywhere near as kind to her. I’m also thrilled that you rid me of my most annoying customer.”

“It’s not really _her_ , it’s the principle of the thing,” I admitted. “I didn’t even like her.”

Mikal laughed. “Did she ever figure out that you were the obnoxious noble that chased her out of my store? Hah! Let’s see you beat _that_.”

I aimed carefully, taking my time to line up the shot. “Nope, never did. I’m sure I would have heard about it if she had.” I fired the bolt and gave her a smirk. “There you go; you said you wanted to see it.”

“Brat.” We shot for quite a while longer, talking about all manner of things (though I forgot to ask her why she’d originally come over). It really did seem she knew enough about every subject to have a good story or interesting opinion, and keeping up my end of the conversation forced me out of the self-imposed isolation I’d been cultivating.

By the time I left, I was tired but in a good way and no longer felt depressed. I still didn’t like what I’d had to do, but I was able to reconcile myself to it. Swivet was equally tired and happy after being able to spend hours chasing around Mikal’s house with Donnen. I absolutely expected my enemy to attack when we got home just because the universe likes dick moves, but nothing happened again. 

Dorian contacted me not long after, and his relief was almost palpable when rather than go on about being depressed, I told him I’d been _shooting_ things. He sounded like he didn’t believe I’m as good at it as I am, which led to a spirited argument and series of challenges planned. By the time we said good night, we were both much happier.


	62. Interlude

The following week was exactly what I’d been whining I wanted. The weather was good and nothing bad happened. I spent a lot of time at Mikal’s little archery range; she let me use her crossbows even when she wasn’t home, bless her. Sera’s friend Matze got back from a scouting mission to Wycome and the two of them were deep into their plan to take revenge on the people who’d wiped out his clan, so I didn’t see much of her. With Enna Duchesne gone, the pranks stopped. Dorian and I were getting along well, and he’d started saying how much he missed me. I was getting proficient enough with my new arm that I barely needed to think about what I was doing a great deal of the time (though once in a while I’d forget and break something or hit myself). I’d talked to Ademar about getting a couple of custom crossbows made. My enemy seemed to have found something else to entertain them, though I still tried to use due caution and keep an eye out for threats. I’d cut my drinking back to just a few every two to three days and was starting to think about another trip to Tevinter.

I should have known better.


	63. Traitor

It was evening but still mostly light out. I’d gone over to Sera’s to fetch a raven-letter from Oliver, confirming delivery of a very resentful but unscathed Enna to the Ostwick Circle. I was thinking that one of these days I was really going to have to suck it up and visit Ostwick again — I’d been promising to visit my parents for ages and I actually wanted to catch up with Oliver. Thus preoccupied, I dropped the wards on my front door and opened it. Suddenly something hit me hard in the back of the head. I saw a brief flash of light and everything went black.

I came to with a headache and the feeling that something was weirdly, uncomfortably _wrong_ (aside from being cold-cocked in my own home). I sat up and tried to focus on the person standing over me, tapping their foot impatiently. It was a woman around my age, give or take ten years, with bristly brown hair and brown eyes, her complexion pale verging on pasty, though at the moment it was blotchy red with excitement. She was tallish, looked ropily thin beneath her nondescript brown travelling clothes. She couldn't seem to stop twitching. I knew one thing for sure — I'd never seen her before in my life.

"Andraste's tits, look who's finally awake. Took you long enough," she sneered.

I gingerly felt the back of my head. There was a lump there from being struck, but at least my fingers didn't come away bloody. I squinted up at her and said, "Who _are_ you?"

"Your death," she snapped, then grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. "Eventually."

I got to my feet. "Look, I don't know who you are or what your problem with me is, but I'm telling you: Leave. Now. Don't bother me again or I _will_ remove you."

"Go ahead and try, you bald son of a bitch." She pulled a staff out from behind her back and fired a spell at me.

I countered and…nothing happened. I could _feel_ the magic there like always, but I couldn't access it. The next moment I was slammed into the wall behind me, hard, and went back down on my ass. 

She laughed. "Looks like you're not as bright as everyone says you are. Feel around your neck, Trevelyan. I'll have you know that collar was very difficult and expensive to get. The Qunari use them to control their mages — you'll need someone else to remove it and I never will. It blocks your magic. As long as you're wearing it, you're as unTalented as any dirt farmer in Thedas."

Now that she'd said it, I became acutely aware of the collar. I gave it a tug anyway, and it was as firmly attached as she claimed. “You’re the one who’s been leaving all the pretty gifts for me, aren’t you,” I said.

“A lot of work for nothing,” she snorted. “Didn't know you were such a cautious bastard. I had to change tactics. Cautious or not, I knew you’d get lazy sooner or later.”

"What the fuck is it that you want?" 

She curled her lip at me. "We'll discuss that at length. Looks like you're feeling healthy enough to be rude now, so-" she cast another spell.

I couldn’t move.

The woman grinned down at me, a brittle, febrile madness in her eyes that I’d only encountered before during the worst days of the mage-Templar wars. “Binding spell, Trevelyan. Have to make sure you _listen_.” She aimed a vicious kick at my groin; she didn't connect, but laughed as my body tried to flinch and couldn’t. “Don’t worry, that’s too easy, though it could be damn satisfying now that I think about it.”

She crouched down, shoving her face close to mine. “I bet you’re wondering _why_ , aren’t you?”

Her breath stank.

She jumped up again, started pacing frenetically.  “Well don’t worry, I’ll play the good villain and tell you. Because you have to _know_ why this is going to be happening to you.” Suddenly she flew at me, slapped me hard in the face, hissing, “ _Bastard._ ”

I blinked involuntarily but couldn’t retaliate at all, and for the first time in my life I began to understand just how frightening being trapped by a binding spell really could be. No wonder Cam had reacted to the idea of mages with fear after both the gang member and Vel Docilus had used one on him at the crossroads.

She crouched in front of me again and elaborated on her thought. "You're a dirty, stinking traitor, Trevelyan, and it's time someone made you pay for it. It makes me _sick_ the way people praise you."

"I don't recall anyone praising me lately and I still don't have the slightest idea what I'm supposed to have done," I said, relieved that she hadn't gone so far as to stop me talking.

She hit me again, harder. It hurt, but I managed to keep from making any sound. I was sure she'd enjoy it if I did. "Always with the pretty words. Well think on these words: _Livius Erimond_."

I stared at her blankly. "Excuse me?"

She hit me a third time, clipping my nose hard. It started to bleed. "Maker! You arrogant _prick_." _Slap._ "You don't even _remember_?" _Slap._ "You made him _TRANQUIL_ , you animal!" _Slap._

The left side of my face was burning and I was pretty sure my left eye was starting to swell shut. _Livius Erimond? Oh. Damn. But Livius Erimond?_ I sniffed, tasting blood as it went down the back of my throat and said, _"That's_ what this is about? Livius fucking _Erimond_? Lady, Livius Erimond was a batshit insane, bloodthirsty lunatic devoted to Corypheus. He _wanted_ me to order his execution so he could be a martyr. He _murdered_ people, he forcibly possessed people with demons and he enjoyed every minute of it. Yes, I ordered him made Tranquil because he was a horribly dangerous man who wouldn't have stopped, and it was the one way he could be made to contribute some good in recompense for all the destruction he caused. If I had to make the decision now, I'd still do it."

She had stared at me intently the whole time I talked, but there wasn't anything resembling reason in those glittering eyes. She sneered, "More pretty words. Pretty, pretty words. You tell people it was fine for you to murder your way across half of Thedas because the people you destroyed were all _bad_ people and everyone believes you and praises you for the way you have with _aaall_ those pretty words. You're a MAGE!" _Slap._ "And you made another mage TRANQUIL!" _Slap._ "TRAITOR!" She leapt up and delivered a kick that glanced off my right thigh. It didn't hurt a bit, but I gave a slight grunt like it did, hoping that would make her happy enough to quit hitting my face.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" I said a bit indistinctly as I sniffed back more blood.

"Want?" She looked at me speculatively. “Want, he says. What I _want._ I want to do so many things. I wonder what to do first. Skin you alive from the waist down, then heal you and start all over again? We could probably do that quite a few times before your body gave out. Let hungry rats eat through your belly into your guts? Oh! Or maybe just one up that well-reamed ass of yours.”

She crouched down again, face just inches from mine. “I know the sorts of unnatural things you and that Vint _pig_ you’re so devoted to do together. Freak. Might be fun to whip up another batch of _Senex Miseria_ and let them have at you. Maybe after I’ve had my fun I should just hack it off, gouge those pretty eyes out and send you back to your Vint, hmm? Maybe do like the ox-men do and remove your tongue as well, see how you do without your pretty words.”

She pinched my cheek (hard, of course) and leapt up. “I’ll just let you think about the fun we’re going to have. Unfortunately the accommodations I require aren’t quite ready, so I’ll have to leave you for a bit while I finish preparing them.” She actually giggled. “I honestly didn’t expect to be able to get you tonight. How am I going to get you out of here without anyone seeing you? Any ideas?”

I said nothing.

She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry, I’ll release the binding spell until I get back just in case you need to – you know – relieve yourself. I don’t want to have to clean you up. But just in case you get any clever ideas about trying to leave…”

With jarring suddenness she dashed across the room and drove her boot hard into my right knee, sending a blast of pain through it that drew an involuntary shout out of me. She followed that up with a vicious kick to the ribs and I felt something crack. Then, I suppose just to show she wasn’t above a cheap shot after all, she delivered one last kick to my groin and my world became nothing _but_ pain.

She stood back and studied me. “That ought to keep you occupied. As long as that collar’s on you won’t be able to heal yourself. Oh- I’ve also warded your doors and windows so you can't open them. Enjoy yourself — this is the best you’re going to feel for the rest of your life.” She released the binding spell and all I could do was curl into a fetal position and wait for the pain and nausea to subside. 

She giggled again, said, “Toodles,” and walked out of my line of sight. I heard the door slam shut.

It turned out I’d lied to Matze: I did still have the capacity to feel terror.

**=#=**

I tried to force myself to think rather than panic, but it wasn’t easy. First thing to do: stand up. NO. First thing: Try to at least lie on my back. It left me gasping but I managed it. I just wished I knew how much time I had before the madwoman returned.

I heard a rustling and for one utterly illogical moment thought she’d just pretended to leave in order to watch me struggle, but the noise was too small and soft for her to have made it. There was a cautious clatter of claws as Swivet emerged from wherever he’d been hiding. I turned my head to the left, wincing at the sudden reminder of how many times she'd hit me on that side of my face, and watched as he came over and looked down at me, his head cocked to one side. He squeaked inquiringly.

“I guess at least I know she’s gone,” I murmured. “Now if you could just go get help.”

He came closer, sniffed at my face. My nose had stopped bleeding and my eyes had stopped dripping tears (though I couldn't see much out of the left one), but I must have looked a sight. “I know you can’t,” I told him. “You’re very clever, but you are just a nug. All the same, I’m glad you’re here.”

Swivet voiced a low trill, then raised a paw and patted me softly on my right cheek, just like I’d shown him to do with his toy cat the day I’d gotten it for him. I choked back an extremely unmanly sob and reached over to scratch him in the spot he likes between his ears. “We’ve got to get out of here,” I told him. “She’s mad. And if she finds you here she’ll probably kill you and eat you in front of me…or starve me until I'm forced to do that to save myself. And over _Livius Erimond_ of all people. I’m going to try to sit up now.”

Swivet squeaked encouragingly (well, he squeaked; I decided he was being encouraging). It hurt, but not as badly as it had earlier, and I managed to sit up. “You know what’s really bad?” I said to him, “This is not the worst pain I’ve ever felt. It’s perhaps the fourth worst. The fade demon was still the _worst_ worst. I’m going to stand up now.”

I used my arms and left leg to push myself across the floor until I reached the couch, using it to provide extra leverage so I could push myself up with my left arm and get the leg under me with my injured right side involved as little as possible. It took a few false starts and hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but I finally made it totteringly to my feet. Swivet gave me a congratulatory trill. “I am definitely going to tell Ademar and Dagna that this arm is a bona fide miracle,” I told him. “Now a _real_ miracle would be if I remembered to replace my healing potions, but I know I didn’t. I was planning to any day now, which means I’m stuck like this. Do you think my knee is broken?”

Swivet wasn’t sure. I felt it gingerly. It was badly swollen and ached like someone had shoved broken glass into it, but nothing looked overtly out of place. I hoped if I wrapped it I could at least manage to hobble. Hobbling was imperative. As was hurrying myself up no matter how sick I felt.

I used a combination of hopping on my left foot and hanging onto furniture for leverage to make my way to the kitchen. It had gotten dark. Like always, I cast a quick spell to light the lamps and…nothing happened. It was starting to dawn on me that having my magic blocked might be far more problematic than I'd initially thought. The number of things I did in a day that involved casual magic — all those very small spells for convenience and/or expedience — was considerable. Case in point: because I could call up a flame or a light whenever I needed one, I'd never gotten around to throwing a simple flint and steel into my supplies. Just like I hadn't replaced those damned healing potions. 

I used what ambient light there was to negotiate my way to my junk drawer, fishing the key I needed out of it mostly by feel. I also took the towel I'd been using to dry dishes and hop-staggered my way back out to the living room. As Swivet watched curiously, I tore the towel into long strips and used them to bind my knee. It was still going to hurt, but at least that gave it some support. There were things I could have used from upstairs, but I couldn't chance taking the time to hobble up there, scrabble around in the dark and make it back down the stairs before she got back.

Next I made my way to the hall closet, pulling out my coat and one of my old staffs. It wouldn't do me a bit of good as a spell enhancer at the moment, but it could still serve as a walking stick and blunt weapon. I affixed my hunting knife to my belt. After a few moments' thought, I added my water flask. It meant another hike to the kitchen, but I wasn't going to be able to get any by magical means. 

The trip to the kitchen was easier now that I had the staff to lean on. I filled the flask then stuck my head under the stream of water from the pump. It was shockingly cold, but it got rid of the fuzziness I'd been feeling around the edges of my consciousness and relieved some of the pain and swelling from being repeatedly hit. I scrubbed at my face, hoping that got rid of the blood. Finally I drank as much water as I could handle. I heard Swivet give an interrogatory squeak. "Sorry, boy," I said, "No time to get food. I can't see shite in here and that insane bitch could come back any minute." I drank some extra water and wiped off my face and head as best I could with my shirt sleeve.

Back to the living room. I felt like everything I was doing was taking an impossibly long time. I lifted my shirt to see what sort of damage that kick to the ribs had done. A big, ugly black and red bruise had already formed; the kind that lets you know you're bleeding. I'd have to hope my ribs were just cracked. I pulled my coat on, marveling again in the midst of everything at how much easier things had become now that I had a functioning - if unfeeling - left hand. 

" _Venhedis_ , I don't even have a proper fucking weapon," I complained to Swivet. "The knife is good, but I don’t want anything coming close enough for me to have to use it. If I survive this, I'm getting those mini-crossbows and taking one everywhere with me. You ready, boy?" Swivet squeaked affirmative. I hooked the flask to my belt, and after a moment's thought pulled a garish purple head scarf that Sera had forgotten out of the coat closet and stuffed it in a pocket just in case. I really needed a better class of emergency items in that closet. Finally I stuck my sending crystal in its usual pocket because I didn’t want her finding it.

You may wonder why I didn't test my would-be captor's claim that she'd warded my doors and windows against my escape, but you didn't see the hateful madness in her eyes. She was enjoying her torture fantasies far too much to let that slip by her. I glanced around with the feeling that there was something else I should take, knowing at the same time that this odd panic-inertia that was gripping me could kill me. Swivet gave a loud querying squeak and I looked down to see him sitting with his toy cat between his front paws, looking at me hopefully.

"Of course we can bring your cat," I told him, and put it in another pocket. The simple action got me moving again, and with my nug close at my heels I limped into the hall and unlocked the back room door. The collar may have inhibited my ability to use my magic, but that didn't seem to matter to the eluvian. It 'woke' immediately, glowing coolly as shapes and colours swam just below its surface. I closed and re-locked the door; the key went back in my trousers pocket. "We might suffocate to death or something as soon as we cross," I told Swivet, "but I'd rather die in the void than endure whatever she's got planned for me."

Swivet scratched himself, then jumped to his feet, making that low, growling noise in his throat. "She's coming already?" I asked him. He yipped. "Then let's go. No time like the present to test this thing."

We stepped through the eluvian.


	64. Per Aspera ad Aspera

I was expecting the familiar feeling of momentary displacement when we stepped through, but with this eluvian the sensation was much more pronounced. For a small eternity I felt like I was being impossibly stretched and compacted simultaneously. Then I was through. I stumbled and would have gone down if I hadn’t caught myself with my staff. As it was, I managed to wrench my knee, sending a new bolt of pain up my leg. Swivet appeared a moment later. He looked up at me and made that squeaky hinge noise.

“It’s a lot smoother going through the ones that are connected to the network,” I told him. “We should get away from the mirror just in case she makes it into the room. I don’t want her hearing anything or breaking the eluvian.” Swivet agreed and I limped several paces forward before stopping to really look at this land on the outer shell of the Crossroads.

Just as I'd seen with my spyglass, it was overwhelmingly grey. Grey sky met grey ground, and off in the distance were hints of grey shapes. The ground was shrouded in a cover of grey fog that reached to about ankle-level (or for Swivet, belly-level). It felt oddly spongy, with a slight give to each step though I could feel no moisture. The air was chilly and tasted stale and flat, but at least it was breathable. “How am I supposed to find Dorian’s eluvian in this? It all looks the bloody same,” I said. Swivet allowed that that was a problem, all right. If I made a beacon to show where my eluvian was, then one that would keep that in line as I proceeded forward-

I’d have my magic and I could also heal myself, walk back through my eluvian and kill the crazy bitch.

I took out my sending crystal…and realized I didn’t know how to activate it without magic. Not that I really expected it to work, but it drove home the fact that _every_ idea I’d had so far involved magic. “People get through life without magic all the time,” I said to Swivet. “There’s no reason I can’t do this.” He squeaked noncommittally. “I don’t suppose you can find the other eluvian,” I suggested. He sat down and scratched himself.

“Right,” I sighed. All I could do was try to make sure I didn’t travel in circles, trusting the connection between the two eluvians would have formed this section of the outer Crossroads into something of a conduit. Otherwise I could wander in this grey nothingness until I died of thirst.

I started walking, trying to keep to as straight a line as possible. It wasn’t easy with no clear reference points, and the ground worried me. The fog covering every bit of it made it impossible to tell whether the area ahead of me was level or dropped off into some ghastly, bottomless chasm like the ones we’d seen in the true Crossroads. It meant my progress was slow and lurching, as I needed the staff to support my injured knee, but also to probe ahead for drop-offs. “You could at least scout ahead,” I told Swivet, but he stuck stubbornly next to me, apparently content to let me test the ground for both of us. Walking that way was exhausting and it didn’t help that my right side was aching along with my knee. I was also getting thirsty but didn’t dare drink anything so soon; maker only knew how long it was going to take me to find the other eluvian.

As I walked I slowly became aware that there was a bit of topography to this dull, grey land. The ground became increasingly uneven, though it still had that weird, spongy feel. Here and there I could see what looked like outcroppings of grey rock rising in disorderly jumbles out of the fog, some of them mottled with a patchy, greenish-black growth I didn’t feel like investigating too closely. Eventually one of those outcroppings appeared close to my chosen ‘path’ and I let myself realize how desperately I needed to sit down for a bit. “Are they safe?” I asked Swivet. He sniffed at them and click-trilled, which I decided meant yes. I picked a section of rock that didn’t have any of the growth on it and sat. The rocks were colder than the air, but there was nothing I could do about it but wrap my coat more tightly around myself. I felt more than a little sick, both from exertion and the kicks I had taken, and finally allowed myself a small sip of water. I knew I needed to stand back up, just needed a few minutes…

I don’t know if it was seconds or hours later I was awakened by Swivet’s urgent alarm call. I sat up from the slouch I’d fallen into on the rocks and nearly doubled over in pain. Swivet was yipping at me and I could hear another noise approaching that sounded horribly familiar: the clicking, skittering sound of something with too many legs. It was the sound I associated with giant spiders, which have to be the one creature on Thedas I despise above all others. I leapt off the rocks, my right knee gave out on me and I hit the ground hard. Sheer adrenalin kept me moving as I turned the awkward fall into a roll and shoved myself backwards away from the rocks. 

It crested the rocks just above where I’d been sitting a moment later. The thing was greyish and mottled like the rocky outcroppings, with a wedge-shaped body and an eyeless, wedge-shaped head armed with a set of shiny black, barbed pincers. It had… too many legs. More than a spider’s eight. They were spiky and multi-jointed and nearly transparent, each one sporting a spiked barb at the end, probably for negotiating the rocks. It was the size of every other giant damn spider I’ve seen, but infinitely creepier. As I slowly tried to gain my feet I saw a pair of antennae extrude from the head. Swivet stopped his alarm call and ran behind me as they wavered indecisively for a moment then zeroed in on us. It reared up and I saw that its mouth was situated in its abdomen. It made a weird, whistling noise and scuttled towards us. 

I automatically fired a freezing spell at it and nothing happened. It gave another awful whistle and in a panic I swung at it with my staff, striking several of its forward legs. It backed up with a bubbling hiss; a good thing as the swing I’d taken at it knocked me off-balance and I hit the ground again. It came forward more cautiously as I wrestled my hunting knife out of its sheath, managing to grasp it firmly in my left hand. The pincers on its face glistened with some sort of viscous liquid. It put on a sudden burst of speed and I stabbed forward with the knife. Its pincers closed on my coat but couldn’t penetrate. My hunting knife slammed into its body somewhere just behind the head and penetrated deep. A gout of greyish-white ichor sprayed out of the wound and the thing reared up making that whistling noise again. I prayed that noise wasn’t a call to its friends, because I was having enough trouble with just the one.

I rolled away from the thing and made it to my knees despite the right one screaming in protest. The spider-thing came scuttling at me again as I recovered my staff with my right hand and took another swipe at it. It backed off at the last second so I only managed to clip a few of its legs, one of which snapped clean off. It whistled eerily and to my horror, launched itself at me with a prodigious jump. Its mouth was pushing out of its abdomen on a thick stalk, snapping and dripping what looked like the same viscous fluid as its pincers. I threw myself to the left, striking at it with my staff. I felt it hit the creature solidly and lost my grip; my staff disappeared somewhere in the ground fog. 

The thing whistled and lunged forward, landing heavily on my right side and back, the mouth snapping ineffectually at my coat. Its clawed legs were scrabbling at me; they were rough and scaly, the barbed tips snagging, ripping through my shirt and inflicting shallow cuts and scratches wherever my coat didn’t cover. I twisted underneath it until I could bring my left arm up and began stabbing the thing repeatedly; one definite advantage to my new hand was it didn’t get tired or lose its grip. I could hear Swivet’s alarmed yips in the background as I hacked at the thing with abandon, my eyes mostly shut against the ichor spewing from the wounds I was inflicting. I tried hard not to think about the way its many legs felt as they scraped and flailed at me.

After an eternity that probably took five minutes or less, the spider-thing gave a last gurgling whistle and stopped attacking, though its limbs continued to twitch. I rolled out from under it and clambered awkwardly to my feet, panting from exertion and disgust. I was covered with spider ichor and bleeding from all the cuts and scratches and wanted more than anything to jump into a body of water and wash it all off. I remembered Sera’s garish scarf was in one of my pockets and wasted no time wiping off as much ick as I could without water or my wonderful clean-up spell. I allowed myself another drink and gave Swivet some water as well, wondering how long I was going to be able to make that flask last.

I was sure I was now developing a mass of grand bruises to go along with everything else, I’d hit the ground so many times. I certainly ached all over and the wounds from the spider-thing’s claws were itching and burning. I no longer felt any urge to sit down on those bloody rocks. “If I had my magic, that thing would have been paste before it came anywhere near me,” I told Swivet. “You’re a very good nug. Thank you for warning me.”

He accepted my thanks graciously. I looked around in confusion, trying to figure out which way we’d been going before the attack. I thought I knew which outcropping of rocks I’d been on, but there were others that looked just like it and in all the thrashing about I’d lost track of the ‘path’ I’d set. Everything was still uniform grey, and like the real Crossroads, the light never changed from its state of perpetual afternoon. “I hope that thing was a lone hunter,” I commented. “Did you see where my staff went?” I couldn’t trust my right knee to hold my weight for long without it.

Swivet had no idea, so I had to spend several miserable minutes crawling around looking for the thing. The sticky sheen of sweat, blood and spider ichor I was covered with made me feel like the ground fog itself was adhering to me; I’ve never wanted to bathe so badly in my life. Once I found my staff, just standing back up was an ordeal and I was more turned around than ever.

“Don’t suppose you know which way we were going, hey, boy?”

Swivet squeaked, cocking his head to one side.

“Shall we keep going? Let’s find Dorian’s eluvian,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

Swivet trilled cheerfully and started trotting forward, glancing back to see if I was following. At that point I was willing to trust he knew what he was doing, because I had no idea which direction to go. I limped after him, leaning heavily on my staff.

Hours passed; at least I think it was hours. While the air objectively remained exactly the same, the chill was starting to get to me. Normally I’d just cast a little heat spell to compensate, but I couldn’t. I was sweating from the exertion of walking but cold at the same time; it was a miserable feeling. I’d tried to get the damned collar off, but it resisted every attempt. My right knee and side had set up burning aches that were pounding in unison. My face hurt from getting hit and the spider-scratches were burning. When I checked the ones I could see (they were all over my chest and abdomen where the coat had fallen open), they looked inflamed, and I was starting to feel a different sort of sick than I’d felt earlier. One healing spell or potion would have fixed most of my problems, but all I could do was take sparing sips from my water flask and keep walking. I no longer cared that I was putting all my faith in a nug to blaze the trail for me; he was in better shape and had at least picked a direction. I was pleased that my fear of drop-offs seemed to be unfounded. Sometimes we heard the skittering of other spider-creatures — or something worse — but none of them came close. I stayed away from the rocks.

…

I hung onto my staff and took another sip of water even though the flask was starting to feel scarily light. Not thinking, I pulled at my shirt; it was sticking to the scratches the spider-thing had made as the blood clotted and grew tacky, and they were still itching and burning. Of course, pulling at it ripped the material away and set the damn wounds bleeding again. For a few seconds I felt like I might faint, then the feeling passed. The old injury on my left side had started aching in sympathy with the new ones on my right and a headache had set up permanent camp just behind my eyes. I spent a few minutes cursing quietly then forced myself to get moving again. The still, dead air made my throat feel raw. 

…

 _I was sitting in a drawing room I’d never seen before, explaining to a dead man that fear is an extrusion_ …and woke up shivering as Swivet nuzzled my face, making anxious little yips. I’d sunk to my knees in the middle of the path and simply blacked out. I forced myself to stand and nearly blacked out again. The pain was bad, but I’d felt worse. It was the sick that was doing me in — I felt weak and shaky and knew I had a fever. Maker only knew what kind of infection that spider-thing had given me. I started walking again, despite my knee feeling like it had broken shards of glass in it. Every time I took too deep a breath I could feel a stab of pain that was starting to worry me. Swivet once again took the lead, checking frequently to see if I was still following. 

…

“We’re out of water,” I mumbled to my nug. He kept walking, but even he was looking worse for the wear, his ears drooping dispiritedly. I coughed and spat blood. I’d been doing that for a while now. The world was grey and time stood still. 

…

I stumbled over nothing and went down. I didn’t want to get back up. I was burning and freezing at the same time and it was getting difficult to focus. I heard Swivet yipping urgently, coughed and spat more blood. I couldn’t think anymore. I was becoming part of that grey, grey world. Swivet yipped loudly, shockingly in my ear. I opened my eyes and tried to focus on him. He seemed excited about something. He pawed at my right hand. I forced myself back up to my knees, groaned, coughed and spat. The blood looked bright and frothy; _festive,_ I thought nonsensically. I looked up blearily and saw what Swivet was on about. It was an eluvian.

“You did it, Swivet. Good boy,” I managed to whisper. My throat and lungs felt raw and stripped, like someone had been going at them with sandpaper. I pulled myself upright, wondering how I would have managed it without the staff, and we trudged to the eluvian. _It’s not going to activate,_ I thought bleakly, but as we approached the great mirror awoke, the familiar colours and shapes seeming to flow just beneath its surface. I no longer even cared where it led, as long as it got us out of the grey lands. Swivet put out a little burst of energy as we reached the eluvian and hopped through as though he’d been going through them all his life. I tried to speed up and stepped wrong. My knee gave out on me and I literally fell through the bloody thing, hitting the floor on the other side.

I rolled onto my back, gasping and shaking, and looked around as best I could. I recognized the room, and thank the maker, it wasn’t the one in my house. Swivet and I had walked to Dorian’s house in Minrathous. I could hear Swivet loudly sounding his alarm call; I tried to concentrate on breathing and staying awake. I coughed rackingly and had to roll on my side to spit, thought about how ironic it would be if I died there. Swivet kept yipping. I was proud of him. I also resolved to never eat nug again as long as I lived, which — I coughed and spat — might not turn out to be all that long.

I heard a key rattling, saw light shift as the door opened and someone came in and said my name. Dorian’s face swam into view; he was saying something but I couldn’t follow. I coughed, spat and managed to gasp out, “Take the damned collar off.” He looked confused so I reiterated, “The fucking _collar._ Cut it _off_.”

I think he swore; things went a little fuzzy for a few minutes. They came back into focus when I felt him working at the collar. He was definitely swearing. Finally there was a snapping noise and he pulled it off my throat. I celebrated by coughing hard and spitting blood, but I could feel that I could access my magic again. I tried to cast a healing spell and couldn’t. I think Dorian must have, because suddenly some of the feeling that I was dying retreated. Swivet plopped himself down next to me and I could hear Dorian out in the hallway shouting for someone. Knowing I could finally stop and let someone else handle things, my body quite sensibly shut down and I descended gratefully into the oblivion of unconsciousness.


	65. The Morning After

I don't remember much of the next day, and what little I do is mostly disjointed vignettes. The ceiling moving as I was carried somewhere on something; someone cutting my shirt off me and saying _well someone really worked him over_ ; being made to drink something; a voice I didn't recognize going on about infection; being unbearably cold then hot; Dorian sounding angry about something, being made to drink another thing that tasted ghastly, Dorian talking softly to me, though I couldn’t tell you for the life of me about what, and weaving through it all, pain. Other flashes I have make even less sense. My first coherent thought came much later, when I opened my eyes in a dark room and realized I was in a bed. Not much as revelations go, I know, but it meant I was alive, and for what seemed like the first time in ages, I didn't feel sick or in pain.

When I finally woke up for real, there was light beaming into the room, which I now recognized as Dorian’s bedroom. I took a moment to let that reality sink in then sat up with only a slight groan. I heard an answering trill and Swivet stood from where he’d been curled by my feet and picked his way carefully across the blankets to greet me. “You’re not supposed to be on the bed,” I told him. He didn’t seem to care. “You saved my life, you brilliant little bugger,” I said as he shoved his head under my right hand to be patted. He trilled agreeably and settled down next to me.

The door opened and Dorian walked in. “ _Venhedis,_ I leave for a few minutes and that’s when you finally wake up,” he said. “Now you won’t believe I’ve been loyally by your side since I found you in front of the eluvian.”

“Sorry, and I do believe you,” I said as I tried to find a more comfortable position. My voice sounded low and gravelly. “I think I need to get up. It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and the healer said you weren’t to do anything for at least another day or two.” He sat down in the chair at the side of the bed.

“You had to get a healer?”

He frowned. “You were that bad, yes. She said the stronger potions would have taken care of most of it, but you had some sort of monstrous infection that was resisting healing. Amatus, what _happened_?”

“Monstrous is more accurate than you think,” I said. “I’ll tell you everything but…not quite yet, okay? I don’t know that I can handle thinking about it. Is there coffee?”

He smiled crookedly at me. “You _are_ feeling better. Of course there’s coffee. And water. She said you were to drink a great deal of it.”

“Help me get up, would you? I honestly can’t sit here another minute; my back is killing me,” I almost-whined.

I stood, with Dorian steadying me through an initial wave of vertigo. I felt achy and very drained, but not unwell. I essayed a careful walk around the room and found out quickly just how drained I was. I didn’t want to stay in the bed, but I wasn’t going to be able to get far. Dorian suggested the day bed, as it had worked well for him after his ordeal with Vel Docilus and I agreed that was reasonable. He had servants set it up in the study at my request; it was a comfortable room and had the extra advantage of having piles of books within reach if Dorian needed to leave for any length of time.

I pulled on trousers and one of my sleeveless undershirts just to feel more civilized and made the lengthy trek down the hall, reaching the day bed just in time to drop exhausted onto it. At least there was coffee waiting for me. As I took a drink, Swivet squeaked imperiously, standing on his hind legs as he demanded a boost onto the day bed. To my surprise, Dorian did the honours, rolling his eyes at me. “He’s refused to leave your side and seems to know no one would dare tell him no.”

“I take it you two are getting along?” I asked, amused.

“I don’t know that he completely trusts me —after all, I _am_ competing for your affections — but I did help you when he couldn’t, so he tolerates me.”

“Before two nights ago I’d say you’re ascribing too much intelligence to him, but now…” I shook my head wonderingly, “I swear, Dorian, he saved my life.”

“You do know I’m exercising every bit of patience I have not to demand you tell me what happened,” he said.

I said, “I should eat something first." I admit I was stalling; just thinking about it was making me feel queasy and oddly anxious. Dorian got the message and spent the next few hours being kind and solicitous and carefully avoiding talking about how and why I’d gotten to Minrathous. The food and coffee helped immeasurably, and by late afternoon I was feeling quite a bit stronger and more myself. I took a deep breath and coughed, drawing an alarmed look from Dorian. "Don't worry - it just feels like when you're getting over a cold," I said. “I think I’m ready to tell you what happened.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?" At my nod he said, "Just one thing first: come here," I stood and he embraced me. I leaned into him, returning the embrace as he murmured, "Welcome back. Despite the circumstances, I'm glad you're here."

"So am I, and thank you for letting me know that." I breathed in the scent of him. Behind me I heard Swivet make a loudly disapproving noise and pulled away just enough to look at him. He was standing on the day bed looking thoroughly annoyed. "You're just going to have to learn to share," I told him. "There are things I do with Dorian I don't _want_ to do with you and you wouldn't like it if I tried." Purely for demonstration purposes, I kissed Dorian soundly. My nug gave a disgusted snort.

"I get the feeling he doesn't approve," Dorian said with mock concern.

"He'll get over it." I exhaled, clamping down on a slight urge to cough again. "I'd better tell you what happened now while I still feel like it." I sat back down and Dorian took the chair across from me. "You know all those attacks and traps someone in Hasmal had been setting for me," I began, "Well, I finally met my enemy."

I told him everything that happened, not skimping on the details. It was harder than I'd expected and by the end I felt sick and shaky again. Dorian didn't waste time with encouraging platitudes, he just said _venhedis_ as he sat next to me and put his arms around me. I took a few minutes to enjoy that and recover my equilibrium before pulling away with a _thanks_.  
  
"You know you frightened me to death when I found you in front of the eluvian," he said, looking troubled. "I thought I was going to lose you. All that blood…thank whatever god is in charge of such things that Swivet wouldn't shut up until someone came to help."

“It was that damned collar,” I said darkly. “I couldn’t heal myself. I couldn’t even properly defend myself. I have discovered I definitely do not like trying to survive without magic. I couldn’t believe how much I use it every day without even thinking about it. Do you realize if it had gotten dark I wouldn't even have been able to see? I would've had to sit in the middle of the path waiting for it to get light and hoping those ghastly spider things didn't attack. _Venhedis_ , if I’d had my magic I could have cleaned those damned scratches and avoided the infection they gave me. I had nothing but a scarf to wipe the shite off with and they were itching and burning from the moment the damnable thing scratched me.”

“A scarf?” he said quizzically.

“I was in a hurry.” I shrugged. “You know, madwoman with very detailed torture fantasies and all.”

"Ah, that can interfere with choosing proper accoutrements. But you did make it here without magic. You should be proud of yourself."

I scowled. "I would have died without Swivet. He kept me thinking even when I didn’t want to.” My nug looked at us upon hearing his name and trilled. "And just _one_ of those bugs was almost too much for me," I continued, "I could've flattened it without a thought if I'd had my magic but instead it damn near killed me. Still, I did prove our eluvians work."

"Of course, you just had to do it the hard way,” he teased. “How long did it take you, do you think?"

We spent some time figuring that out, and came up with about a day and a half. "I expect going through healthy and armed it would take considerably less time," I said. "There are a few times I'm not sure how long I was out in addition to having to walk so bloody slowly and fighting that spider thing."

"So a day or less. That's incredible," Dorian said. He got up to pour himself a drink and I thought to myself _And now I can't bitch about the travel time between here and Hasmal_. I found that simultaneously encouraging and annoying.

He returned with a glass of wine in hand, saying, "Despite that _not_ being how I wanted to test the eluvians, I must say I’m glad they were there. If they hadn’t been…” he sat next to me again, shaking his head. “Did she ever tell you her name?”

“No. You know what pisses me off? She could still be _in my house_.”

“You’ll forgive me if I refuse to allow you to go check,” he said lightly enough, but with an uncharacteristically troubled look on his face.

“You know what else infuriates me? The very idea that all this was over Livius fucking _Erimond_ of all people.”

“That had to have been an excuse. At least I am going to tell myself that. The woman’s obviously mad, but there must be more to it,” Dorian stated. "You're looking very tense again. Turn around." I turned so I was facing away from him and he began rubbing my shoulders. It felt unspeakably good; I hadn’t realized I was that tense.

“I can’t remember the last time I was that terrified,” I admitted to him. “I don’t think I ever was; the fade demon happened too quickly and for some reason Corypheus never really terrified me. I just found him annoying and offensive. But the things that woman wanted to do to me…” I shuddered involuntarily, “If you could have seen her _face_. I absolutely believe she would have kept me for years if she could.”

“She’d never have gotten away with it. We would have found her.”

“Fat lot of good that would do if she’d decided to disfigure me for life and fuck off before anyone could trace her,” I said glumly. “I had no _magic_ , Dorian. I couldn’t do a fucking thing against her once she got that collar on me. No wonder the ungifted are scared shitless of us. She got the drop on me and neutralized me before I even knew she was there. Oh, maker, keep doing that.”

He worked at the muscles in my shoulders and back, saying, “Well, technically she neutralized you with a blunt instrument like any common thug."

"I know. I was talking about after, really. Once she’d gotten that damned collar on me. She knocked me flat and slapped that binding spell on me before I could get near her, and once she did that… she could have done anything. You know what I mean?"

“Does the name Vel Docilus ring a bell?" Dorian said drily. "Still, you kept your wits about you and used the eluvian. That took balls, Kai.”

I snorted. “I got lucky. If she hadn’t left, or if it hadn’t been there, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Incidentally, for a real experience, try getting _kicked_ in the balls while you’re being held by a binding spell.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” he said. "I _am_ sorry I wasn't there for you."

I turned to look at him, trying a small smile out, "I certainly would have liked to see you burst through the door and turn her into paste, but I'll settle for more backrubs. You should come back with me and back me up while _I_ turn her into paste."   

“Sounds delightful. Was that an experiment to see how many times you could fit the word 'back' into one sentence?"

"I nearly died two days ago. I'm allowed to make questionable grammatical choices," I sniffed.

"Do you want me to get a message to Sera letting her know where you are? I can send a raven to her.”

“Andraste’s furry ass, I didn’t even think of that. Yes, of course. Include a description of the mad bitch. I won’t be resentful in the least if she takes the kill." I surprised myself by yawning. "Can we talk about something else? I think I've reached my limit for now."

Dorian agreed easily and we stayed away from the subject for the rest of the night. I ended up going to bed quite early. All the healing potions in the world weren't going to negate the fact that my body had taken far too much punishment to bounce back completely in one day.


	66. Question

The next day I felt good enough to dispense with the day bed. I still wouldn't have cared to try anything too athletic, but I was perfectly comfortable sitting in a normal chair out on the balcony. Dorian was still being very sweet and solicitous; all I could think was I must have looked horrific when I fell through the eluvian. He kept giving me odd, troubled looks when he thought I wasn't looking. Swivet, on the other hand, apparently decided I was going to be fine and was having a grand time exploring Dorian's house. The staff had been told in no uncertain terms that the nug was a pet, not a meal that had wandered in of its own volition, so I didn't worry about letting him roam.

Late that afternoon (after I'd beat him at several rounds of cribbage, much to his frustration), Dorian said he had a meeting he needed to attend, acting almost nervous about it. I assured him I'd be fine reading for however long it took him. He wasn't convinced until I insisted, and even then hesitated. That level of vacillating was completely out of character for him and made me wonder what he was up to.  I told him to _go, already, I’ll be fine, unless you'd like to try a few more hands of crib._ That did the trick. 

I went to the study and set about picking a book to read. 

**=#=**

"Amatus?"

I looked up with surprise. "You're back early."

"Yes, I suppose I am." He stood there in the doorway, looking oddly diffident.

"Did the meeting go well?"

He looked at me blankly for a moment then said, "Oh, yes, it went swimmingly."

I squinted suspiciously at him. "What's going on? You're not acting like you."

"Some people would say that's a good thing," he quipped. "I- Kai, can we talk?"

"That's not what we're doing right now?" I’d been lounging on the couch; now I sat up properly. Hopefully this would explain why he'd been acting so strange.

"You know what I mean," he said sternly.

"All right." I set my book down and waited as he took a seat. "What do you want to talk about?"

He fiddled with the ends of his moustache and looked at me like he'd come to some decision. "I lied to you. There was no meeting. I just needed some time to give myself a stern talking-to. I'll have you know this isn't easy for me to say."

I raised an eyebrow. "What is it: You’ve changed your mind? I've been here too long and you want me to leave?"

" _That’s not funny_ ," he snapped. I recoiled, giving him a hard look.

"I’m sorry," he said softly. "The very idea that you might think I don’t want you here makes me feel dreadful and I'm making a bloody mess of this. This is what happens when I can't be glib."

"Just talk to me. You don't _need_ to be glib."

"Easy for you to say…he said glibly." Dorian smiled self-deprecatingly. "This time I shall try to employ my prodigious verbal skills." He took a deep breath. "I’ve been thinking. A great deal and…much as I hate to admit such a thing is possible, I am an idiot."

"Is this a general statement or in reference to something specific?" I asked bemusedly.

"Quite specific. In fact, it may interest you to know that more than a few people have _told_ me I'm an idiot when it comes to this particular something."

"Dorian, as someone once said to me, I love you with every fibre of my being, but at this point you're getting annoying."

He half-smiled at me. "Touché. Right, then. Kai…don't leave."

I blinked. "What?"

"I don't want you to leave. Ever. I was an idiot to ask you to stay away."

"Where did this come from? How close to dead _was_ I?" I suspected I probably didn’t want to know the answer to that last question.

"Just listen for a moment.” He paused, raking his hand through his hair. “A year ago I thought it would be for the best; it seemed a perfectly sensible idea for you to stay down south. You were right back then: I _did_ think our relationship and your being a southerner would severely hamper our efforts in the Magisterium. Perhaps I was also a little jealous of how easy you made it look to make big changes on a nearly societal level," he added wryly. "Regardless, the plan was for the Lucerni to become a real political force, and here and there you could sneak into Minrathous for a few days of clandestine togetherness, disappearing before anyone really knew what was going on." He smoothed his hair back into place.

I couldn't hold back a short bark of laughter. "Well, that last bit fell apart in no time."

"To be fair, I did _not_ count on Maevaris going behind my back to conspire to get you up here for a proper visit," he said smiling. "Nor did I count on the two of you hitting it off so well. You were supposed to be _my_ little secret."

I raised an eyebrow. "'Little'?"

"Ha ha. _Figuratively_ speaking, of course.”

“I hope you know that fantasy of yours wouldn’t have worked,” I said a bit crossly. “I would have been all right with _hiding_ from all your little magisterial friends like some kind of embarrassing kink you can’t kick, oh, about once. If I was feeling generous. In case you hadn’t noticed, my ego’s nearly as big as yours and doesn’t take kindly to that sort of treatment.” 

“Obviously I didn’t consider every angle of my idea,” he said impatiently. “The _point_ is: I did not foresee us becoming the worst-kept secret in Minrathous. Nor did I expect that so many magisters would be fine with us. Well, disregarding certain bastards that have been a great deal of the problem all along."

I nodded. "Please continue. I'm finding this confession fascinating."

"You were _supposed_ to say _No further explanation is necessary, Dorian_."

"Uh uh. I want to hear this. I _need_ to hear this," I said. 

He sighed. "I knew you were going to say that. Very well."

I gestured _please go ahead_ and settled myself more comfortably.

"Anyway. You came up here and it was wonderful and you _didn't_ try to take over or anything else I'd predicted and Mae loved you and you fit in here effortlessly and then you left. And rather than being able to throw myself into leading a new and exciting rebel faction within the Magisterium with a heady sense of renewal, I found myself feeling _disconsolate_ and looking forward more to activating the sending crystal than I was to thwarting the machinations of corrupt magisters. But I told myself it was all for the best because Minrathous is a vipers nest you don't know your way around and down there you were _safe_."

I snorted but otherwise kept my mouth shut.

"Then you came up a few more times and we went to some functions and everyone liked you and you _still_ didn't interfere with the Lucerni. And you know what started happening?" he looked at me accusingly. "People started asking me why in the world you were still living down south. If I made the mistake of telling them it was my idea, nearly all of them wanted to know why I'd demanded something that _stupid_."

"I've been wondering that for a year," I said blandly. 

He glared at me. "You are interrupting my narrative before I describe my epiphany."

"Sorry," I said insincerely.

"So I thought to myself, very well, people are accusing me of being an idiot, but at least I don't have to worry about someone trying to assassinate you. Then you stay up here for nearly a month with absolutely nothing untoward happening, go back home and within a few _days_ someone's trying to- to torture you into slow death down in Hasmal. But I told myself that was an aberration and on the whole you were still safer down there though I was starting to have some trouble convincing myself (and I'll have you know I'm very convincing, particularly to myself). Then you come back up here, waltz through the worst of Minrathous unscathed while _I_ end up needing rescuing and somehow convince Kaeso _Asina_ to work for the Lucerni."

"I shouldn’t have done that?" 

"You know bloody well that was a stroke of genius," he said, flashing a smile that shifted quickly back to serious. "And when do I see you next? When you fall half-dead through my eluvian. Not only that, but this is the third _time_ I've seen you nearly die."

"The first two were worse," I said as though being less effective at nearly getting myself killed was worthy of praise.

"No, they weren’t. You have no idea what the healer said that infection was doing to you and I shan't tell you. Regardless, it's about three times too many for my taste," he said. "And it occurred to me that one thing all three of those times have in common is they all _happened_ in the south, whereas up here you seem to be leading some sort of charmed life. Therefore, if anything I am _endangering_ your life by asking you to stay in the south."

"Impeccable logic," I said, amused.

"It's utterly spurious logic," he said with a smirk. "But it _did_ make me take a serious look at our situation just as you so eloquently requested when you left last time. Don’t get me wrong – I started thinking about it the moment you left, but you know me. Because I knew it would be a bit before you came back, I started to procrastinate again and not think _too_ deeply about it. After all, there were fashion disasters to critique and _bons_ to _mot_.”

“At least you admit it."

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes, well. I may be a bit willfully thick at times, but when I found you nearly dead in front of that eluvian and one of the only lucid things you said was you were sorry to bother me by coming back so soon-“

“I was hardly lucid,” I objected. “I didn’t mean it.” I also didn't remember saying it, but wasn't surprised I had.

“Yes, you did,” he said sadly. “And once I knew you weren’t going to die and was able to think about it…I didn’t like myself very much. _Swivet_ was treating you with more love than I was. I don’t even know _why_ I’ve kept pushing you away.”

“Dorian, you-“

“Kai. I am saying nice things to you. Please allow me to continue,” he said sternly.

I indicated _go ahead_ and he took another deep breath. “Let me preface this by saying I'll understand if you don't want to now, but: I _want_ you to stay, Kai. And I don't mean in the grand Altus tradition of keeping your male lover stashed off to the side where we can pretend he doesn't exist and get on with the business of breeding new little Magisters. If I'm going to be head of the revolutionary forward-thinking faction in this country, I may as well go all in and let it be known that we're a couple. As I said, we're already the worst-kept secret in Minrathous society." He looked at me, his riveting grey eyes wide and bright. "What say you, amatus? Will you stay?"

I favored him with my best non-expression. "You know I own a house in Hasmal and have a title and estate in Kirkwall, not to mention my family in Ostwick."

"Well, yes," he said, "and of course it's perfectly reasonable for you to prefer I move down there but considering the circumstances I was hoping-"

"Mind you, I was also locked in a Circle in Ostwick, nearly killed twice in Orlais and Ferelden — three times if you count Justinia's Conclave — and once in my _own house_ in Hasmal," I continued, "whereas in Tevinter I've been treated quite well, all things considered. You're also doing important things here, and despite its problems I _like_ Tevinter. I especially like what you and the Lucerni are trying to encourage Tevinter to become. I've been bloody waiting the better part of a year for you to ask me; of course I'll stay."

He actually looked surprised. "You will?"

"How could you possibly be surprised? I haven't exactly made my feelings on the subject unknown."

"I'm not sure you understand the possible ramifications," he said with a worried frown. "As I told you back when you first informed me that you didn't want to settle for something casual and meaningless, _real_ relationships between two men just aren't done here. Some people are going to be very unhappy with us. Perhaps even violently unhappy."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, you mean something along the lines of being targeted and attacked by an angry, talented, and barking mad mage because they've decided you need to be punished?"

"I walked right into that, didn't I?"

"It might happen." I shrugged. "If it does, we'll deal with it. Or sic Kaeso on them. We aren't without allies and resources, you know. I'm not going to let worries about that sort of thing dictate my life. I've had quite enough of other people telling me what I can and can't do."

"I don't know whether you're incredibly brave or just incredibly bloody-minded. Fine, I withdraw any and all cautionary objections," he said, looking amused.

I held up a hand. "I do have two provisos."

"Just name them."

"One: it doesn't have to be immediately, but sometime soon we _will_ make this official in some overt manner, whether that be marriage or…well, _something_. I'm not going to have everyone here looking upon me as your foreign houseboy or live-in fuck-toy or some bloody bollocks like that."

He chuckled, "Lyrically put, but I understand, and I want to make it official too. I _could_ actually see myself marrying you, and believe me, I never thought I would say those words to _anyone_."

"It wasn't exactly a major goal or expectation of mine either," I said. "Part of me would like to, but the other part still thinks it sounds like an utterly alien thing to do." 

"We could choose to be one of those couples who remains permanently on the verge of it. That has the added benefit of infuriating those who like everything to be quantified," Dorian said airily. 

"There is a degree of attraction in that," I agreed. "It's sort of…benignly obnoxious."

"I _live_ for moments of benign obnoxiousness.”

_(Truth? If he'd wanted I would have agreed to marriage, but he seems to shy away from the idea and it's not something I consider absolutely necessary. We'll just have to see if that changes in the future.)_

Dorian continued, “And what might the second thing be?"

I grinned. "The nug stays too."


	67. Hunting

So that night it was decided: I was moving to Tevinter and Dorian was going to stop pretending we weren’t a couple, Tevinter tradition be damned. Of course, deciding something and actually executing it are two very different things. There were all sorts of logistics involved. The first problem was my still-nameless enemy down in Hasmal. I was determined to take care of her as soon — and as lethally — as possible.

Our plan was simple: We'd take the eluvian path back to my house and hunt her down if she was still around. Dorian was eager to try it and I was curious how long it actually took now that I had my magic and my health back. Despite my feeling fine, Dorian insisted I spend another day taking it easy before embarking on the trip, so we spent the day doing non-strenuous things. I also got my coat professionally cleaned; it needed it between my bleeding in it and the spider-thing leaking body fluids all over it. I showed off how well my new hand worked and Dorian was appropriately impressed (it seemed to have survived all the spider ichor unscathed). That evening we attended a dinner theatre, and to my surprise I knew a few of the people there from previous functions we'd attended. We ended up sharing a table with a married couple (she's a magister, he does something administrative I didn't quite catch) who seemed to assume I already lived in Minrathous and — I was looking forward to telling Dorian _I told you so_ — were more concerned with the freshness of the fish course than our being out as a Couple. Even the theatre part wasn’t bad.

The next day we readied ourselves for our first official trip through our little self-made eluvian network. Dorian put on his armour for the first time in ages; I just threw on my coat over my regular clothes. Along with an overnight bag for Dorian, we had extra water, road rations, our staffs and I had my hunting knife. We're both expert at combat magic, so I was unworried about the disease-ridden spider-things this time. "You know, I've never seen your house in Hasmal," Dorian mused.

"Very aware of that," I said pointedly. "I'm not selling that house, by the way.  It's the first one I ever had that's my own and I like it. Besides, it's the perfect place to keep the eluvian."

"It never occurred to me that you might sell it," Dorian said. "Do you think moving this eluvian to Qarinus will break the connection?"

"Don't see why." I shrugged. "They don't really operate in our space and time, so as long as they're keyed to each other…"

"We just need to be very careful not to break them," Dorian finished. "Do we have everything? Should Swivet stay here?"

"I'd like to see you try and make him," I smiled. "Besides, he proved he can do the trip…better than I if the first time was any indication. You ready, boy?" Down by my feet, Swivet squeaked. I assumed it was an affirmative. "Then let's see if we can catch that bitch. Or at least see what sort of damage she's done to my house."

We stepped through the eluvian.

**=#=**

There was that same feeling of simultaneously expanding and contracting for a small eternity and we were through. Everything looked the same.

Dorian sneezed in the flat, stale air and said, “Well, _that_ was more jarring than I remember. My goodness, it’s even more picturesque than the official one. Is it mono _chrome_ or mono _tone_ ; I can never remember.”

“It does make you realize just how many shades of grey there are,” I agreed.

“This air is going to wreak havoc on my hair.” Dorian sighed.

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed,” I said with a smirk.

“Someday you’re going to want hair and you won’t be able to grow it anymore,” he intoned direly. “So which way do we go? Straight?”

“It’s as good a guess as any,” I said. “I decided to operate on the theory that since there’s only the two eluvians, there should be something of a conduit formed between them.”

Down by my feet, Swivet made a _chirrup_ ing sound. “Do you know?” I asked him, putting some extra enthusiasm in my tone. “Shall we go back home?” He squeak-trilled and started trotting away from the eluvian at a slight diagonal. I looked at Dorian and shrugged. “He got me here when I was mostly delirious; I vote we trust him.”

“Why not?” He grinned. “It adds that extra _frisson_ of absurdity to the journey. I place my fate in his creepy little paws.”

We followed my nug into the grey.

Soon we came upon one of the outcroppings of rock that had nearly been disastrous for me. "Do they live in these?" Dorian said as he went closer to study them.

"I didn't think to ask the one I met, seeing as it was busy trying to kill me at the time," I said drily. "I wouldn't touch that stuff growing on them; that's likely what its claws were covered with."

"It doesn't smell like anything."

"Nothing here smells like anything," I replied. "Even when that thing was on top of me I don't recall it smelling like anything."

He started to circle the outcropping. I caught up with him and behind us Swivet yipped warningly. I wasn't sure if it was because one of the spider-things was approaching or he just couldn't believe we were stupid enough to wander deeper into their territory. "If those things live here, there must be something that they eat," Dorian was musing.

"Considering its mouth was in its abdomen, they could be eating the sludge on the rocks," I said. "I didn't really notice what it had in the way of teeth." Swivet made his 'danger' call; he hadn't budged off the path. 

"I take it the locals have noticed us," Dorian said. We could hear the skittering now. Impossible to tell how many were approaching, considering all the legs they had. "Should we go back to the path?"

"Nah, keep them away from Swivet. There's literally nothing he could do against them. If there's only one, do you mind if I take it?" I said.

"Be my guest," Dorian said graciously. He wasn't deprived, however, as three of the things came clambering over the rocks towards us. " _Venhedis_ , they are ghastly, aren't they," he readied his staff. "Still want the first one?"

As I reply, I launched a tightly compacted fireball imbued with enough energy that it was close to being plasma. It hit the lead creature head on. The thing gave a whistling shriek and exploded, burnt bits of guts and spiky legs raining on its companions. Rather than exercise caution at seeing what happened to their mate, the other two made whistling noises of their own and charged toward us. Dorian and I looked at each other, shrugged and let them have it.

Whatever else you could say about them, the creatures had virtually no resistance to magical attacks and within minutes they were dead. We waited a bit in case reinforcements appeared, but nothing happened. We approached the one that was still mostly intact (Dorian had taken it out with a well-placed bolt of electricity) and studied it. "Twelve legs," Dorian counted, "What does something need twelve legs for?"

"I'm sure I don't want to know," I replied with distaste. "Why do so many things have to be spidery; that's what I'd like to know."

"That first one did blow up quite nicely," he said. "You at least have that memory to cherish."

"It does help," I agreed.

He pushed the thing over with the toe of his boot to expose its abdomen. "I'll be damned, you weren't exaggerating. The mouth _is_ there." He poked at it with his staff. "And they do have teeth — look."

The teeth were strange — flat, almost spade-shaped things, but sharp. "Perfect for scraping that stuff off the rocks," I observed. Dorian puzzled over how they'd do that; I reminded him the mouth extruded from the abdomen on a sort of thick stalk. "But if that's their food source, why attack like they do?" I wondered.

"Either they're just vicious by nature or… a lot of things like to lay their eggs in living hosts."

"Thank you very much, now I've got _that_ in my head," I complained as we left the creatures and returned to the path. Swivet made one of his unoiled-hinge noises that meant he wasn't impressed, so I crouched down to fuss over him and let him know everything was all right. "Mind you, if you wanted some nasty poison, all you'd need to do is scrape the claws on the ends of their legs."

"I think that's a little secret we should keep to ourselves," Dorian said. 

A thought occurred to me that caused me to sit down with a thud. Swivet sniffed me curiously.

“Amatus?” Dorian said with some alarm, “What’s wrong?”

I shuddered. “They’re not lone hunters.” 

“What? Are you feeling well? You look white as a sheet.”

I stood back up. “Dorian, we just killed three of them that came at us in a pack. They’re not lone hunters. That means it was sheer dumb luck that the one that nearly killed me was alone. Fasta _vass,_ I hate spiders.”

Dorian nodded. “That is a rather disturbing discovery.” He grinned at me. “So disturbing that you had to switch to Tevene for an appropriate curse word.”

“I did?” I honestly hadn’t noticed.

“You did.”

“You are clearly a bad influence on me. Well, that and I really do hate spiders — and things that look like spiders —  that much. They were the only swear words I could think of that express the appropriate depth of feeling.”

“Which is why even though the old language is mostly dead, we kept the curses.”

We drank some water and continued our journey, not getting too close to the rocky outcroppings that appeared at regular intervals. It didn't take long for the relentless grey sameness to get oppressive and although I didn’t feel sick, the air kept making me feel like I needed to cough. We tried to break up the monotony by talking and setting up small competitions we could do while walking. I think the worst part was having no idea how much time was actually passing. Like the 'real' Crossroads, our surroundings seemed suspended in a perennial afternoon. We didn't know if the minutes just felt like hours or if real hours had passed.

We judged the passing time by our own activities: how many breaks we took, how often we ate, that sort of thing. No one felt the need to sleep. We heard skittering noises now and then and once there was a veritable chorus of eerie whistling far in the distance, but no other spider-creatures appeared and we didn't see any other signs of life. As time continued to crawl past, we spent more of it in silence as if the grey was discouraging conversation. I spent a great deal of time constructing scenarios of what would happen when we reached my house. I couldn't imagine the madwoman would still be there, but in some of my fantasies we'd find her crouched in the middle of my living room like some kind of baleful four-limbed spider… and then I'd kill her. Truthfully, most of the scenarios I built ended with _and then I'd kill her_. It was kinder than what she'd planned for me.

Some time later, Swivet voiced a trill I knew well: it was the one he made when he got home. "We made it," I said to Dorian. The eluvian was just visible far ahead of us and we picked up our pace.

"Any chance we'll be attacked as soon as we walk through?" Dorian asked. I told him it wasn't likely as that room stayed locked at all times, but we stopped for a moment before stepping through and listened. Everything was silent. We nodded to each other and proceeded (Swivet nearly got himself stepped on in his mad rush to be first).

The small window in my back room showed it was full dark out. I cast a light and we listened again. Nothing. I unlocked the door, opening it on a dark, silent hallway. Swivet pushed in front of us and stood still, sniffing as his ears swiveled around. Finally he gave a short trill-click and trotted down the hall. “If he thinks it’s okay…” I said and lit my lights with a thought. I walked into the living room with some trepidation.

“Well, it’s not destroyed,” Dorian said, looking around with interest. Swivet ran about sniffing everything. I was looking more carefully; it seemed like things were out of place.

I shrugged out of my coat, tossing it on the couch, and went into the kitchen. There on the back porch I saw it: a neat pile of my things that had been broken. “She did wreck some things,” I called out to Dorian. “Looks like she was stopped before she got too far,” I continued as he joined me. “It had to be Sera or maybe Ademar; whoever it was cleaned up for me. I wonder if they killed her.”

“Plenty of time to find that out tomorrow. Did she destroy anything important?”

I looked through the stack. There were a couple of things that made me a little sad — souvenirs from my days as Inquisitor, a book I’d been fond of — but nothing I considered precious. I said as much to Dorian and set about making coffee. He strolled around my kitchen and living room appraisingly and finally said, “This is nice, in a smallish, rustic sort of way. It’s not at all what I pictured.”

“What did you picture?” I asked, handing him a coffee and the sugar bowl.

“I don’t know. Something bigger, I suppose, possibly involving a courtyard and a fountain, or at least a mosaic and some superfluous wrought iron.  I expected at least _one_ servant; you really don’t have any?”

I laughed. “I really don’t. I’ve a lady who helps with the cleaning once a week because - you know - missing a hand, but otherwise I clean up after myself and I’ve even learned how to cook — which, I might add, is also much easier with two hands. I rather like it.”

“Such the rugged individualist.” He grinned. “I must say, the place suits you. Is there more to it? You must have a library.”

“Upstairs; it was supposed to be the second bedroom. Storage and root cellar are downstairs,” I said. “Privy’s through the door across from the eluvian room before you ask.”

He made a face. “Don’t tell me you clean that too.”

I snorted. “Please. There are _people_ to deal with that. My appreciation for do-it-yourselfing only extends so far.”

“My faith in you is restored,” he said. Swivet dashed up to me and started his starving-to-death act so I fed him and we went back to the living room with our coffees. Dorian explored the rest of the main floor, declared it charming and so-very-commonfolk that he feared he might find himself buying homespun clothing soon.

“We should figure out how long it took to get here before it gets too much later,” I said. We checked my living room clock, subtracted the time we’d pissed about when we arrived, and came up with an incredible ten and a half hours.

“Of course, the elven network is much faster,” Dorian said.

“Yes, _if_ there was no Fen'Harel to contend with and _if_ their eluvians went where we wanted them to,” I pointed out. “Personally I’ve had enough of ancient elven ruins.”

“ _And_ Fen’Harel,” he added, “I’d say the trade-off is worth it.”

We talked a while longer, but as it really was quite late, we agreed it was time Dorian see the upstairs. Swivet tried to follow us, but I told him firmly, _not this time_ and gave him an extra treat. After a brief tour, we went to bed.

Some time later, we went to sleep.


	68. Absolution

What with one thing and another, we didn't get out of the house until well after noon the next day. The weather was beautiful so we walked to Sera and Dagna's. Dorian had a grand time critiquing Hasmal's woeful lack of fashion sense. When I knocked, Sera opened the door saying, "Back, yeah? It’s about time. How long have you been home? Why didn't you ding me? You're _always_ supposed to ding me."

" _Ding me_?" Dorian echoed curiously. 

"What're _you_ doing here?" she demanded then grinned and gave each of us a hug hello. "Get in here and talk to me," she commanded as she shut the door. I explained dinging to Dorian as we went into the kitchen and pulled up stools at the worktable. I didn't see Dagna anywhere, but there were a few runes-in-progress on the table. I asked Sera if she'd been the one who'd cleaned up my house and she fixed me with a glare.

"No you don't. You go bloody missing then days later I get a raven from Dorian saying you're up _there_ and now you're both back _here_. I'm not saying bugger all till you lot tell me what happened."

I objected that if there were other people who needed to hear the story we should just get everyone together and tell it once rather than having to repeat it. Dorian took my side and after some debate Sera agreed that Mikal needed hear it too. Dorian got the tour of Sera's house he insisted on, making liberal use of the words quaint and charming much to Sera's disgust, then we headed to Mikal's shop. We had to wait a bit for her customers to leave, but the moment they did, she put the Closed sign on her door, demanding information much as Sera had.

In no time we were ensconced in her pleasant attic lab/sitting room. I introduced Dorian to her (he was enjoying every moment of the day, particularly Mikal's enthusiasm at finally meeting him), then got down to the business of telling them everything that had happened the last several days. I started the narrative, Dorian took over once I'd reached Minrathous, and we both recounted the journey back to Hasmal. "Now it's your turn," I told Sera and Mikal. "I know someone cleaned my house up and I don't see the mad bitch anywhere, so what do we not know?"

Sera took up the tale. She'd been home the night I was attacked. She'd answered a knock at her door to find a young human man she didn't recognize. It was Jasker, the stableboy. He'd kept a desultory eye on my house for so long it had become habit with him, and that night he'd seen something "passing strange": a scary-looking woman had pulled up to my door. She was perched on a covered cart being pulled by a mule. She'd glanced around but hadn't noticed Jasker before entering my house. _He said if there was trouble I was to come to you,_ he'd told her, _and that lady looked like all sorts of trouble._ Sera had thanked him and promised to get right down there.

She'd donned her armour and weapons and considered her options. Dagna was willing to come, but she's no warrior and Sera wasn't willing to take the chance that the woman was just a covered-cart merchant. Mikal, though, lived nearby and was far more lethal than she'd ever let on to me. She'd gone there as quickly as she could and was relieved to find Mikal home. She explained the situation and her suspicion that this could be my mysterious enemy. Mikal agreed and, though they didn't like to waste time, put together a small arsenal that could take down a mage. The bolts for her mini-crossbows were imbued with heavy tranquilizers and some magic-inhibiting tinctures. She added the same stuff to several of Sera's arrows and in addition to Dagna's runed armour, added magic-resistant charms for both of them. Some grenades (including Sera's favourite bees) completed the arsenal, and soon they were creeping up on my house ( _And feeling very silly at first, doing that in my own neighborhood,_ Mikal added).

They didn't feel silly for long. As they crept along the side of my house they heard what sounded like enraged screams and things being thrown about. Fearing the worst, they'd gone round to the back where Sera had picked the lock (I'd only given her the key to the front, not anticipating she'd need the other). They'd crept through the back porch and darkened kitchen, positioning themselves where they could see the living room and stairway. They could hear thudding upstairs, another enraged shout and a woman came pounding down the stairs. Neither Sera nor Mikal hesitated; they simply fired as soon as they had clear shots. The woman spun around in surprise as the arrows hit home, cast a blast of lightning that failed to hit anything and went down like a sack of potatoes as the tranquilizers kicked in.

They removed their missiles, wrapped the wounds and bound the woman securely then made a search of the house. I was long gone by then, but they found some blood (from the nosebleed she'd given me). _We assumed you got away because she was angry as a wet cat,_ Mikal said, but they had no idea where I might be. The woman had made a mess of my place, so they'd taken the time to straighten everything up before hauling the woman away in her own covered cart.

"You have her?" I demanded.

"All in good time, dear," Mikal said placidly. "First you need to thank us for stopping her before she destroyed your house, though I do wish we could have made it there before she did all that to you."

I thanked them, of course, and asked, "So who _is_ she? Did you find out anything about her?"

"Other than she's barking mad?" Sera said. 

"I've got a name, for what it's worth," Mikal added. "Loren Bechet. Ring any bells?"

I shook my head. "Not even remotely. Like I said, I've never seen her before."

"Well, she's certainly fixated on you," Mikal said.

"But why Kai?" Dorian asked. " _Please_ don't tell me she's truly that upset about Livius Erimond."

"Well, she hasn't been very chatty, but from what I can gather someone close to her was made Tranquil. Then Kai became Inquisitor and she got it in her head that that meant he was going to save all the mages, what with him being one _and_ being chosen by Andraste," Mikal explained.

Sera made barking noises.

“See — that’s one more example why that _Andraste’s Chosen_ nonsense was a shite idea to promote,” I said crossly.

“ _Did_ you say anything about fixing everything for the mages?” Mikal asked.

"I never said any such thing," I replied. "The only thing I really said about mages was I was going to prove that we weren't all the unstable, possession-prone killing machines the Chantry made us out to be."

"Although he said it much more diplomatically," Dorian added.

"Yeah, but-" Sera made barking noises again and laughed.

"Sera's right," Mikal said with a smile, "She's -um- not right in the head. Probably never was. But when Kai ordered Erimond made Tranquil, the saviour of the mages she'd created in her mind became the ultimate betrayer. She's been stewing about it for years, believe it or not."

“She told you all that?” Sera said. “She never said squat to me; just kept giving me those _looks_.”

“She knew you’re a close friend of Kai’s and she was trying to convince me to let her go.”

"What about the torture fantasies?" I said.

"Oh, she was happy to share those," Mikal said with a curl of her lip. "She is one sick puppy. She thinks those are perfectly acceptable; it’s what spins her windmill, so to speak. You're just lucky enough to have become the focus of all her fantasies since you 'betrayed' her. She wouldn’t tell me where, but she claims she had everything set up to start doing them for real as soon as she gets you again."

"Okay, that is not going to happen and where is she?" I said flatly.

Mikal stood up. "Follow me."

We trooped down the stairs and followed her through the warren of goods in her back warehouse to another staircase that led to a sub-basement. “How big _is_ this place? Are we even near your store anymore?” I asked. Mikal just chuckled.

“I used to read adventure stories where people did this sort of thing,” Dorian said. “I don’t suppose you have a ring of smugglers down here?”

We finally reached our destination: a locked metal door with a grilled window in it. Mikal gestured for us to look. I saw an austere room containing a cot, a chair, a washbasin and a toilet of the bucket-in-a-wooden-container variety. Sitting on the cot was my would-be torturer. I moved aside so Dorian could see. “That’s her?” he said. I nodded. “Wiry, isn’t she?” was his only comment.

“Well?” Mikal said, “We kept her because we felt you should have the final say on what to do with her. Any thoughts?”

“Many,” I said. “But let it not be said that I’m not fair. Let’s see what she has to say now that she’s had - what, five or six days? - to think about what she’s done. Go ahead and unlock the door.”

“Are you sure?” Mikal said doubtfully.

“Mad or not, I think Dorian and I can handle anything she might throw at us.”

“Kai’s not the only one who’s unhappy with her,” Dorian said.

Mikal unlocked the door, saying, “Loren. There’s somebody here to see you.”

She looked up, saw me and lunged off the cot. Before she could do anything else, Dorian threw up a barrier and I slammed her with a binding spell. I could feel her fighting it, but I was stronger. Then Dorian cast again. She froze for a moment and started screaming in terror. “Fear spell?” I said.

“It seemed appropriate; I gave her the deluxe model,” he replied.

“Nice.” We watched impassively until the spell wore off and she glared at us, panting heavily. “Now behave or we’ll have to do something worse,” I told her. “Don’t even _think_ of trying to cast anything.”

“I see you’ve got your Vint _pig_ with you,” she sneered.

“That’s her pet name for you,” I told him.

“How precious; I shall have to come up with something equally endearing for her,” he said.

“What do you want?” she somehow managed to make those words drip hatred.

“Just one thing. I want you to tell me what you’d do if we let you go,” I said.

I wasn’t sure what she’d say aside from it probably being unpleasant, but I wasn’t prepared for what came out of her mouth. She said flat out she’d wait until she could successfully get me, then take me to the room she’d prepared and… I’m not going to repeat what she said. Clearly the woman had put nearly every waking moment into figuring out how to keep someone alive while doing unspeakable things to them for a very long time. She did pause in her enthusiastic descriptions of my fate long enough to assure my companions she’d acquire them as well, then went right back to it.

“I’d say you have your answer,” Mikal said quietly.

Sera made barking noises.

Dorian, looking sickened and fascinated at the same time, turned to me. “Amatus?”

I nodded and said, “Enough,” throwing a small binding spell on her mouth. She continued to glare vitriol at me as I approached her. “I feel sorry for you,” I told her, “so I’m going to do for you what I wouldn’t do for Livius Erimond.”

I gathered my power, focusing it tightly, my will telling it to form into something about the length and depth of my hand. I channeled the power and my intent into a force spell, using my right hand as a focus and conduit for it as I walked behind her. To do it correctly, the spell needed to be tightly focused, quick and with a great deal of force behind it. I raised my hand and made a chopping motion, releasing the spell as I did so. 

The sound of her neck snapping seemed very loud in the small room.

She dropped bonelessly to the ground. I’d like to say I felt something, but aside from a degree of relief, I didn’t. Mikal crouched down to check and nodded. She was dead. “I’ll get someone to deal with this,” she said matter-of-factly. “Shall we go?”

We left and by mutual agreement went to the pub we normally frequent. We had drinks and a good meal, then Dagna and Ademar showed up and we had more drinks.  It was a wonderful evening. Dorian and I walked home later that night and continued to have a wonderful evening (though I couldn’t believe he actually trounced me at cribbage all night), and eventually I had one of the best sleeps I’d had in ages. 


	69. Journeys End...

The next few days were busy ones. I told my friends I was moving and not one of them seemed terribly surprised. For a monthly stipend Mikal agreed to keep an eye on my house; she was closest to it and Sera was preparing to leave herself. She and Matze were finally ready to take their revenge on the Duke of Wycome and his people. Dorian was hoping for something along the lines of a party barge filled with the entirety of Wycome’s corrupt nobility sinking into the ocean, but she wouldn’t tell us what they had planned. We’d be watching for news from that land with interest.

Ademar and Dagna gave my new arm a thorough going-over, made a few adjustments and declared it nearly perfect, though Dagna was determined to create a rune that would give me some rudimentary feeling. I’d be back and forth to Hasmal still, just not as frequently, so I’d be able to keep track of her progress. I gave Jasker a generous amount of money as thanks for spotting my enemy and alerting Sera; he insisted I needn’t give him anything, but seemed awfully pleased when I wouldn’t allow him to give it back.

I had a few conversations with my financial people, as I wasn’t about to live off Dorian’s money, but to be honest, when you have the kind of coin I’ve had since leaving the Inquisition, people do whatever they can to accommodate you. Arrangements were made.

In the end, there wasn’t a lot I needed to bring back with me aside from more clothes and a handful of things I just didn’t want to live without. Everything fit into a cart we could easily take through the eluvian. I was delighted when Ademar and Mikal presented me with two finely-crafted mini-crossbows and enough bolts to skewer half of Thedas. I wasted no time testing them at Mikal’s little archery range, not to mention demonstrating to Dorian that I hadn’t been exaggerating my ability with them. We even talked him into trying them out, and I know he enjoyed it, though he made a great show of lamenting that this unfamiliar foray into brutish weaponry was going to give him unsightly calluses.

Sera and Matze were leaving the same day as Dorian and I, so the night before all of us — including some other Friends of Red Jenny — got together for a good-bye and good luck party. Everyone drank too much but no one misbehaved (though I was a tiny bit miffed that Dorian spent a good deal of the evening in conversation with Mikal then wouldn’t tell me what they were talking about). All in all it was another good evening. I was obscurely pleased that the majority of what Dorian had seen in Hasmal had been positive. He was already referring to my house as our vacation home. Before she left, Sera handed me a stack of mail she’d kept for me during my impromptu trip to Minrathous and nearly forgotten about. I stuck it safely in the cart to be read once things had settled down.

I finally did one thing I’d been threatening to do forever: I managed (at great expense, as I no longer had the cachet of being Inquisitor to trade on) to get my hands on two sets of sending crystals. I gave one to Mikal and one to Sera, so if they needed to get hold of us there’d be no time-consuming nonsense with messenger birds and couriers. It took some extra fiddling, as neither of them could activate the things magically, but we got them working.

Then it was time to leave. After some discussion, we’d decided to see if the mule I’d sort of acquired from my enemy (I’m sorry, I refuse to say her name) would consent to going through the eluvian. Just walking it through my house was a bit of a production, let alone convincing it to walk through a magic mirror. The beast absolutely balked when we tried. We had to put blinders on it and coax it through with food, then Dorian had to stay with it so it didn’t bolt while I pulled the cart through. While he hooked the cart to the mule (grumbling the entire time about the amount of manual labour he was being expected to do), I made a last check through my house and locked it. I'd warded it so only Mikal, Sera, Dagna and Ademar could open the doors. I felt a bit of a pang at leaving, I have to admit, even though I was finally getting what I wanted.

**=#=**

Nothing had changed in our own little crossroads. I was rather hoping some of the spider-creatures would attack so I could play with my new crossbows, but it seemed I was doomed to disappointment. We talked as we walked (Swivet was grandly ensconced atop my luggage in the cart and having the time of his life), taking turns leading the mule, who was unhappy with the land we’d dragged it into, but resigned to its fate.

It was probably just increased familiarity — or the lack of spider-fights — but the trip seemed to go more quickly this time. Just about the time the endless grey was really starting to get on our nerves, Swivet yipped and we saw Dorian’s eluvian. When we reached it, the mule needed no coaxing to walk through. We unhitched it from the cart, unlocked the door and led it into the hallway where Dorian flagged down a very confused servant, instructing her to take our marvelous new mule to the stables. We pulled the cart into the living room for unloading and Dorian relocked the eluvian room. “Well,” he said, smiling at me, “We’re home.”


	70. Epilogue

_ Epilogue _

We spent the first part of the next day unpacking and organizing my things. Dorian informed the staff that I was living there now (I could swear I heard one fellow mutter he thought I already was) and went to do whatever magisterial things he had to do while I continued organizing. It wasn’t until early that evening we were able to relax a bit. We got a drink each and retired to the study, where Dorian needed to spend a bit of time catching up on correspondence.

While he did that, I turned to my stack of mail. The first missive was yet another attempt to convince me to avail myself of Fine Hattes; I had to give the merchant credit for perseverance. The second was a letter from a Chantry accountant asking that I sign and initial another copy of the itemized list of expenses I’d claimed on my mission to Tevinter, give them a more detailed explanation of a few of them (also signed and initialed) and send the whole thing back via a Chantry-approved courier. _I’d hate to see what people go through who weren’t hired by the Divine herself,_ Dorian commented.

I picked up the third envelope and said, “Oh, damn.”

“What is it?” 

“It’s from my mother,” I said as I opened it.

“And?”

“I didn’t answer her last letter.”

“For pity’s sake, Kai, whyever not?” he demanded.

“Because I’m a terrible son,” I said, “Just a moment while I read this.”

He went back to the letter he was writing until I re-folded it with a sigh. “Well? Are your parents all right?” he asked.

I looked guiltily at the letter. “They’re being terribly nice. They seem to really want to see me.”

“Well, they _are_ your parents."

“I know. It’s just always…strained. I always feel like I’m doing something wrong when I go there; we don’t really know each other.” I knew I was sounding whiny.

“How are you ever supposed to know each other if you won’t see them? What did they do to you to make you this reluctant? Is there something you haven’t told me?” Dorian sounded a bit exasperated.

“No. They’ve actually been nothing but decent to me,” I admitted. “I just…I don’t know. They want me to stay at the house this time. I don’t know how that’ll work.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Why? Do they live in a tiny house?”

“Well, no. It’s actually far too big for just the two of them.”

He sighed. “Then what are you worried about?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be weird. I won’t know what to say.”

“I have never seen you at a loss for words,” Dorian said drily. 

“There’s a lot of unresolved…things. No one wants to say anything that’ll start a fight. And they don’t know I moved to Tevinter. They’re not going to like that. Maybe I should just write them a nice letter."

“Oh, for- Kai- _Fasta vass,_ ” he interrupted himself impatiently, “It’s been years. We now _live_ together. What _is_ your middle name?”

I made a face. “If you must know, it’s Alexander.”

He stared at me. “Alexander? All this time and mystery for Alexander? What in the world is wrong with Alexander?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just never liked it.”

“That has got to be the most anticlimactic thing that’s happened to me this year,” he complained. “In any case: Kai Alexander Trevelyan, _GO. SEE. YOUR. PARENTS._ Your excuses are becoming weaker by the moment. You are nearly forty years old. And,” he looked at me sadly, “you never know when something might happen to them. Don’t let that happen.”

He was right, of course. He wouldn’t let me weasel out of it, so I wrote my parents back, and they replied (to my address in Hasmal; Mikal was kind enough to pick up the letter and read it to me over the sending crystal) and a month after moving to Tevinter I left for Ostwick. I wasn’t sure about the timing, but Dorian declared it was better for me to resolve the situation.

A fortnight later I returned. It was early evening when I stepped through the eluvian. I dropped my things in the entry hall to be put away later, hung my coat up, washed the road dirt off myself and went in search of Dorian.

He was lying on the couch in the study, reading a book. I noted with some amusement that it was one of the schlocky novels I’d bought to entertain myself on my last trip up: _Naked in Nevarra City_ (emblazoned across the cover was _Trapped in the Catacombs of the Dead!!_ ). “Can I sit?” I said. He levered himself up long enough for me to slide onto one end of the couch and prop my feet on the coffee table then resumed his place, using my lap as a pillow. I ran my fingers absently through his hair and sighed, “It’s good to be back.”

“It’s good to have you back. Ostwick still all in one piece?” he asked, bookmarking his page.

“Looks pretty much the same as every other time I’ve been there,” I replied.

“So how was it?” He set the book on the coffee table, settled himself a bit more comfortably.

“It was...interesting.”

“Good interesting or just interesting interesting?”

“Mostly good. It was a good thing I went.”

“I told you it would be,” he said complacently.

“I learned a lot of things. I’ll tell you later, but there are things that make much more sense now. I think this is the first time we talked to each other as actual grown-up _people_ , if you know what I mean.”

He smiled up at me. “I know exactly what you mean. So how are they as actual people?” 

“Surprisingly likeable.” 

“Why surprising?” he said, “Most people think _you’re_ likeable and you had to get that from somewhere. I doubt teaching likeability was a priority in your Circle.”

“Huh.” I’d never thought of that, but he was right. I changed the subject. “How did it go with you and Swivet?”

“Am I allowed to officially say he’s _our_ nug?”

“I suppose that depends on him. I’ve got no problem with it.”

“Well, we got along famously. He seemed to think it was utterly fascinating to follow me everywhere. It’s like having your own little fan club. I have to say, I never thought I’d grow fond of something I used to consider a particularly good lunch.”

I grinned. “Leliana will be thrilled that you’ve become a convert. Did you let him on the bed? You let him on the bed, didn’t you.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “So…you told your parents you’ve moved, then?”

I let him get away with changing the subject. “Yes. My father’s deeply disappointed. Of course.”

“About me or about Tevinter?”

“Both. Mostly Tevinter. He cannot fathom how I could betray my country like that.”

“Just _living_ here is treason?”

“To his mind.” I sighed. “I’m not surprised. I just rather hoped…well, you know.”

He made a noise of agreement, “What about your mother?”

I smiled and ruffled his hair. “She wants to meet you.”

He lit up. “Really? I’m good with mothers. She’ll adore me.”

“Actually, I think she will. I’d wait to invite her until we’re in Qarinus, though. I think Minrathous might be a bit much for her.”

“She’ll love Qarinus nearly as much as she’ll love me. I’ll see to that. Would your father come, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I’d like him to, but…he really has a bug up his arse about Tevinter. He hates that you’re a magister. _And_ he’s not thrilled with your gender, though that one he’s mainly disappointed with _me_ for, like I had any more choice in that than being a mage. Oh - you're going to love this: I found out what his biggest problem's been with me all these years."

"I take it it's not that you're far better-looking and more clever than he'll ever be?"

I chuckled, "Oddly, no. It turns out he had that whole bloody carrying-on-the-family-name dream. All this time it was really about the damn bloodline and my not being in a position to continue it. So it's nothing to do with you and me; my being a mage destroyed it long before my natural proclivities would have become an issue.” I rubbed my eyes and went back to stroking his hair.

“How so?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? If you’re highborn and they discover you have magic, one of the extra perks along with being locked in a Circle for the rest of your life is you get stripped of your titles and any claims to your family estates.”

Dorian snorted. “And you southerners call us barbaric.”

“It was kind of ugly. I pointed out that they had my sister to continue the line, and he looks at me with that _you’re tearing my heart out_ look and says _but you were my SON_. Past tense, you’ll note.”

“Ouch,” Dorian said sympathetically.

“I’ll give him credit though: after that blow-up — which happened the very first night, naturally — he really tried to be decent and get along with me.” I shook my head, “I don’t know. So many things with him are complicated. You know.”

He laughed humorlessly. “I certainly do. Anything else?”

“Lots of things. I’m still sorting through it all. You’ll probably get tired of hearing about it soon.”

“Did you see what’s-his-name? Your old Grand Enchanter?” 

“You mean Oliver,” I smiled, “And it’s First Enchanter. Yes. Had quite a good visit actually. There may be hope for Enna yet; he said she seems to be enjoying training.”

“Enna? Which one is she?”

“The mage girl who was pulling all the pranks in Hasmal,” I reminded him. “Oh - I met my sister.”

He squinted up at me. “What do you mean? You’ve met her before, haven't you?”

“The last time I saw her she had just turned nineteen and I had just walked away from the Circle. She was still living at home and I showed up to guilt money off them. I was only there for a few hours and she spent the majority of that time hiding in her room.”

“I see. Not the ideal family reunion.”

“Hardly. The only other time I met her I was seventeen and she was four or five. I’d passed my Harrowing, and because my family was local and noble and _very_ determined they let them visit _briefly_ one afternoon. My parents were uncomfortable, I was simultaneously proud and scared and angry, which meant I was acting like a total prat, and she was frightened. A lovely time was not had by anyone. My parents visited a few more times, but they never brought her again.”

“Makes my family gatherings sound like a picnic in the park. So when you say you met her..?”

I snorted. “Mother invited her without telling either one of us the other would be there. Once they’d said hello to her, she yanked Father out of the house on some pretense and threw us alone together.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“I like her. And I think she liked me. She’s much more sensible than I am. Definitely got all the looks in the family.”

“ _That_ is a matter of opinion,” he said sternly. “Um- the looks anyway. I’m sure she’s more sensible than you. We shall have to invite her to Qarinus along with your mother; I’m very charming with sisters as well.”

“You don’t need to convince me you’re irresistible,” I said, giving his hair a yank in mid-stroke. “Just _look_ at everything I’ve gone through to be with you.”

To my confusion, he frowned and sat up, turning sideways on the couch so he could face me. “You have put yourself through the wringer, I know.”

“Well, I had some help,” I objected as I turned to mirror his position, “I certainly didn’t ask for or anticipate Crazy _you-made-a-mage-Tranquil_ Woman.”

“Yes, well her aside…Was it worth it?” he looked solemn and worried, of all things.

I felt like I’d been reading a book and someone had ripped three pages out when I wasn’t looking. “Dorian… what? I’m sorry, but I think I missed something. Was _what_ worth it?”

“Fancy you not knowing my thoughts while you were off in Ostwick,” he said. “It’s quite simple, really. This is the first time you’ve left since home became _here_ and it got me thinking. I know I put you through a lot of unnecessary grief, and I’m sorry for that, and now that you’re finally back… I just need to know: was it worth it? Are you happy? Do you honestly want to throw your lot in with me forever more even after all that?”

I smiled bemusedly, “If anything, I want to _because_ of all that. You made me work my _arse_ off to get you, you vain bastard. If you think you’re going to get rid of me now, you’re bloody mad.”

He fiddled with his moustache, looking pleased, then reiterated, “But are you happy?”

I thought about it for a moment. “It’s a somewhat unfamiliar feeling, but I’d have to say yes. You?” 

“I’m sure the Magisterium has some obscure rule against it, but yes, I suppose I am.”


	71. Epilogue (part 2)

So there you have it. I officially live in Tevinter with my Magister lover. There are going to be people who say I followed Dorian up here like some love-sick puppy, and I suppose they’re entitled to their opinion, but that’s bollocks. I love Dorian and I do like living in Tevinter. I support his vision for affecting real change from within, and appreciate his commitment to his land. Frankly, I don't feel the same attachment to the Free Marches; all they ever really did for me was lock me up in a Circle with no intention of ever letting me out the second they discovered I was a mage. Otherwise, it was just the place I grew up. There are things I like about it, particularly Hasmal, but I have no deep and abiding love for the land. Perhaps this lack of patriotism is a shortcoming on my part, I don't know. I do know up here we can make a positive difference; the south can take care of itself. ****

Some — like my father, unfortunately — think moving up here was a traitorous, morally reprehensible act. I’d ask them to consider it from my point of view: Yes, some aspects of Tevinter are terrible, but politics aside, I’m with the only person I’ve ever truly loved and he actually loves me back. Also, my ability with the talent I happen to have been born with is appreciated here, not feared and vilified. I may even be able to do some good with it. And I’m happy. If that makes me a traitor, so be it. I’m comfortable with my decision.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. are sincerely appreciated.
> 
> If you'd like to see the Earthly version of _The Magister Who Came to Dinner,_ may I direct you to the wonderful 1942 film _[The Man Who Came to Dinner](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0033874/?ref_=fn_tt_tt_1)_ .
> 
> If you're curious what Kai actually looks like, click [here](https://imgur.com/a/gZFkd) (of course, if you've got your own mental picture, feel free to ignore this).


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